i~-^ijMi»LZz:^^i!^?5: 


ON  THE  ^ILL-TOP 


Bo  YE  SI   N 


?ir^i^^ 


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^1/y  ^  >^S&M^ JS 


ILKA   ON   THE    HILL-TOR 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 


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ILKA  ON  THE  HILL-TOP 


AND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

HJALMAR   HJORTH    BOYESEN 

AUTHOR  OF    "  GUNNAR,"    "  FALCONBERG,"   ETC. 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY 

1881. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1881. 


TROW*S 

PRINTING   AND    HoOKBINDING   Co., 

201-213  I'-''it 

NKW    YORK. 


To 

DR.   EGBERT   GUERNSEY.     . 
DKAK  DOCTOR : 

»/  can  never  expect  adequately  to  repay  you  for  your  many  valuable 
services  to  me  and  mine.  Nevertheless,  in  recognition  of  -what  you 
have  been  to  tis,  allow  me  to  dedicate  this  unpretentious  volume  to 
you.  I  shall  have  more  respect  for  my  little  stories  if  in  some  way 
they  are  associated  with  your  name. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 
HjALMAR    H. 

NEW  YORK,  January,  1881. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ILKA  ON  THE  HILL-TOP i 

ANNUNCIATA 41 

UNDER  THE  GLACIER 86 

A  KNIGHT  OF  DANNEBROG 127 

MABEL  AND  I  (A  Philosophical  Fairy  Tale) 180 

How  MR.  STORM  MET  HIS  DESTINY..  .  206 


ILKA    ON   THE    HILL-TOP. 

MR.  JULIUS  HAHN  and  his  son  Fritz  were  on  a 
summer  journey  in  the  Tyrol.  They  had  started 
from  Mayrhofen  early  in  the  afternoon,  on  two 
meek-eyed,  spiritless  farm  horses,  and  they  intend- 
ed to  reach  Ginzling  before  night-fall. 

There  was  a  great  blaze  of  splendor  hidden  some- 
where behind  the  western  mountain-tops  ;  broad 
bars  of  fiery  light  were  climbing  the  sky,  and  the 
chalets  and  the  Alpine  meadows  shone  in  a  soft 
crimson  illumination.  The  Zemmbach,  which  is 
of  a  choleric  temperament,  was  seething  and  brawl- 
ing in  its  rocky  bed,  and  now  and  then  sent  up  a 
fierce  gust  of  spray,  which  blew,  like  an  icy  shower- 
bath,  into  the  faces  of  the  travellers. 

"Ac/i,  welch  verfiuchtes  Wetter!"  cried  Mr. 
Hahn  fretfully,  wiping  off  the  streaming  perspira- 
tion. "  I'll  be  blasted  if  you  catch  me  going  to 
the  Tyrol  again  for  the  sake  of  being  fashionable  !  " 

"  But  the  scenery,  father,  the  scenery  !  "  exclaim- 
ed Fritz,  pointing  toward  a  great,  sun-flushed  peak, 
which  rose  in  majestic  isolation  toward  the  north. 

"  The  scenery — bah  !  "  growled  the  senior  Hahn. 


2  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

"  For  scenery,  recommend  me  to  Saxon  Switzer- 
land, where  you  may  sit  in  an  easy  cushioned  car- 
riage without  blistering  your  legs,  as  I  have  been 
doing  to-day  in  this  blasted  saddle." 

"  Father,  you  are  too  fat,"  remarked  the  son, 
with  a  mischievous  chuckle. 

"  And  you  promise  fair  to  tread  in  my  footsteps, 
son,"  retorted  the  elder,  relaxing  somewhat  in  his 
ill-humor. 

This  allusion  to  Mr.  Fritz's  prospective  corpu- 
lence was  not  well  received  by  the  latter.  He  gave 
his  horse  a  smart  cut  of  the  whip,  which  made  the 
jaded  animal  start  off  at  a  sort  of  pathetic  mazurka 
gait  up  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

Mr.  Julius  Hahn  was  a  person  of  no  small  con- 
sequence in  Berlin.  He  was  the  proprietor  of  the 
"Haute  Noblesse"  concert  garden,  a  highly  re- 
spectable place  of  amusement,  which  enjoyed  the 
especial  patronage  of  the  officers  of  the  Royal 
Guard.  Wcissbeer,  Bairisch,  Seidel,  Pilzner,  in 
fact  all  varieties  of  beer,  and  as  connoisseurs  as- 
serted, of  exceptional  excellence,  could  be  pro- 
cured at  the  "  Haute  Noblesse;"  and  {Re  most 
ingenious  novelties  in  the  way  of  gas  illumination, 
besides  two  military  bands,  tended  greatly  to 
heighten  the  flavor  of  the  beer,  and  to  put  the 
guests  in  a  festive  humor.  Mr.  Hahn  had  begun 
life  in  a  small  way  with  a  swallow-tail  coat,  a 
white  choker,  and  a  napkin  on  his  arm  ;  his  stock 

I 


Ilka  on  the  Hill- top.  3 

in  trade,  which  he  utilized  to  good  purpose,  was  a 
peculiarly  elastic  smile  and  bow,  both  of  which  he 
accommodated  with  extreme  nicety  to  the  social 
rank  of  the  person  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 
He  could  listen  to  a  conversation  in  which  he  was 
vitally  interested,  never  losing  even  the  shadow  of 
an  intonation,  with  a  blank  neutrality  of  counte- 
nance which  could  only  be  the  result  of  a  long 
transmission  of  ancestral  inanity.  He  read  the 
depths  of  your  character,  divined  your  little  foibles 
and  vanities,  and  very  likely  passed  his  supercilious 
judgment  upon  you,  seeming  all  the  while  the  per- 
sonification of  uncritical  humility. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Mr.  Hahn  picked  up  a 
good  deal  of  valuable  information  in  the  course  of 
his  career  as  a  waiter ;  and  to  him  information 
meant  money,  and  money  meant  power  and  a 
recognized  place  in  society.  The  diplomatic 
shrewdness  which  enabled  him  to  estimate  the 
moral  calibre  of  a  patron  served  him  equally  well 
in  estimating  the  value  of  an  investment.  He  had 
a  hundred  subterranean  channels  of  information, 
and  his  judgment  as  to  the  soundness  or  unsound- 
ness  of  a  financial  enterprise  was  almost  unerring. 
His  little  secret  transactions  on  the  Bourse,  where 
he  had  his  commissionaires,  always  yielded  him 
ample  returns  ;  and  when  an  opportunity  presented 
itself,  which  he  had  long  foreseen,  of  buying  a 
suburban  garden  at  a  bankrupt  sale,  he  found  him- 


4  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

self,  at  least  preliminarily,  at  the  goal  of  his  ambi- 
tion. From  this  time  forth,  Mr.  Hahn  rose  rapidly 
in  wealth  and  power.  He  kept  his  thumb,  so  to 
speak,  constantly  on  the  public  pulse,  and  pre- 
scribed amusements  as  unerringly  as  a  physician 
prescribes  medicine,  and  usually,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, with  better  results.  The  "  Haute  Noblesse  " 
became  the  favorite  resort  of  fashionable  idlers, 
among  whom  the  military  element  usually  pre- 
ponderated, and  the  flash  of  gilt  buttons  and  the 
rattle  of  swords  and  scabbards  could  always  be 
counted  on  as  the  unvarying  accompaniment  to  the 
music. 

With  all  his  prosperity,  however,  Mr.  Hahn 
could  not  be  called  a  happy  man.  He  had  one 
secret  sorrow,  which,  until  within  a  year  of  his 
departure  for  the  Tyrol,  had  been  a  source  of  con- 
stant annoyance :  Mrs.  Hahn,  whom  he  had  had 
the  indiscretion  to  marry  before  he  had  arrived  at 
a  proper  recognition  of  his  own  worth,  was  not  his 
equal  in  intellect ;  in  fact,  she  was  conspicuously 
his  inferior.  She  had  been  chamber-maid  in  a 
noble  family,  and  had  succeeded  in  marrying  Mr. 
Hahn  simply  by  the  fact  that  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  not  to  marry  him.  Mr.  Hahn,  however,  was 
not  a  man  to  be  baffled  by  opposition.  When  the 
pert  Mariana  had  cut  him  three  times  at  a  dancing- 
hall,  he  became  convinced  that  she  was  the  one 
thing  in  the  world  which  he  needed  to  make  his 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  5 

existence  complete.  After  presenting  him  with  a 
son,  Fritz,  and  three  rather  unlovely  daughters, 
she  had  gradually  lost  all  her  pertness  (which  had 
been  her  great  charm)  and  had  developed  into  a 
stout,  dropsical  matron,  with  an  abundance  of 
domestic  virtues.  Her  principal  trait  of  character 
had  been  a  dogged,  desperate  loyalty.  She  was 
loyal  to  her  king,  and  wore  golden  imitations  of  his 
favorite  flowers  as  jewelry.  She  was  loyal  to  Mr. 
Hahn,  too  ;  and  no  amount  of  maltreatment  could 
convince  her  that  he  was  not  the  best  of  husbands. 
She  adored  her  former  mistress  and  would  insist 
upon  paying  respectful  little  visits  to  her  kitchen, 
taking  her  children  with  her.  This  latter  habit  near- 
ly drove  her  husband  to  distraction.  He  stamped 
his  feet,  he  tore  his  hair,  he  swore  at  her,  and  I  be- 
lieve, he  even  struck  her  ;  but  when  the  next  child 
was  born,  —  a  particularly  wonderful  one,  —  Mrs. 
Hahn  had  not  the  strength  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  knowing  how  the  new-born  wonder  would 
impress  the  Countess  von  Markenstein.  Another 
terrible  scene  followed.  The  poor  woman  could 
never  understand  that  she  was  no  longer  the  wife 
of  a  waiter,  and  that  she  must  not  be  paying  visits 
to  the  great  folks  in  their  kitchens. 

Another  source  of  disturbance  in  Mr.  Halm's 
matrimonial  relations  was  his  wife's  absolute  re- 
fusal to  appear  in  the  parquet  or  the  proscenium 
boxes  in  the  theatre.  In  this  matter  her  resistance 


6  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

bordered  on  the  heroic ;  neither  threats  nor  en- 
treaties could  move  her. 

"  Law,  Julius,"  she  would  say,  while  the  tears 
streamed  down  over  her  plump  cheeks,  "  the  par- 
quet and  the  big  boxes  are  for  the  gentlefolks, 
and  not  for  humble  people  like  you  and  me.  I 
know  my  place,  Julius,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  town,  as  I  should  be,  if  I 
went  to  the  opera  and  sat  where  my  lady  the 
Countess,  and  the  other  fine  ladies  sit.  I  should 
feel  like  a  fool,  too,  Julius,  and  I  should  cry  my 
eyes  out  when  I  got  home." 

It  may  easily  be  conjectured  that  Mr.  Halm's 
mourning  covered  a  very  light  heart  when  the 
dropsy  finally  carried  off  this  loving  but  trouble- 
some spouse.  Nor  did  he  make  any  secret  of  the 
fact  that  her  death  was  rather  a  relief  to  him,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  gave  her  full  credit  for  all 
her  excellent  qualities.  Fritz,  who  was  in  cordial 
sympathy  with  his  father's  ambition  for  social  emi- 
nence, had  also  learned  from  him  to  be  ashamed 
of  his  mother,  and  was  rather  inclined  to  make 
light  of  the  sorrow  which  he  actually  felt,  when  he 
saw  the  cold  earth  closing  over  her. 

At  the  time  when  he  made  his  summer  excur- 
sion in  the  Tyrol,  Fritz  was  a  stout  blond  youth 
of  two  and  twenty.  His  round,  sleek  face  was  not 
badly  modelled,  but  it  had  neither  the  rough  open- 
ness, characteristic  of  a  peasant,  nor  yet  that  inde- 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  7 

finable  finish  which  only  culture  can  give.  In 
spite  of  his  jaunty,  fashionable  attire,  you  would 
have  put  him  down  at  once  as  belonging  to  what 
in  the  Old  World  is  called  "the  middle  class." 
His  blue  eyes  indicated  shrewdness,  and  his  red 
cheeks  habitual  devotion  to  the  national  beverage. 
He  was  apparently  a  youth  of  the  sort  that  Nature 
is  constantly  turning  out  by  the  thousand — mere 
weaker  copies  of  progenitors,  who  by  an  unpropi- 
tious  marriage  have  enfeebled  instead  of  strength- 
ening the  type.  Circumstances  might  have  made 
anything  of  him  in  a  small  way  ;  for,  as  his  counte- 
nance indicated,  he  had  no  very  pronounced  pro- 
clivities, either  good  or  bad.  He  had  spent  his 
boyhood  in  a  gymnasium,  where  he  had  had 
greater  success  in  trading  jack-knives  than  in  grap- 
pling with  Cicero.  He  had  made  two  futile 
attempts  to  enter  the  Berlin  University,  and  had 
settled  down  to  the  conviction  that  he  had  mis- 
taken his  calling,  as  his  tastes  were  military  rather 
than  scholarly ;  but,  as  he  was  too  old  to  rectify 
this  mistake,  he  had  chosen  to  go  to  the  Tyrol  in 
search  of  pleasure  rather  than  to  the  Military 
Academy  in  search  of  distinction. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  great  ravine  of  Dornauberg 
the  travellers  paused  and  dismounted.  Mr.  Hahn 
called  the  guide,  who  was  following  behind  with  a 
horse  laden  with  baggage,  and  with  his  assistance 
a  choice  repast,  consisting  of  all  manner  of  cold 


8  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

curiosities,  was  served  on  a  large  flat  rock.  The 
senior  Hahn  fell  to  work  with  a  will  and  made  no 
pretence  of  being  interested  in  the  sombre  magni- 
ficence of  the  Dornauberg,  while  Fritz  found  time 
for  an  occasional  exclamation  of  rapture,  flavored 
with  caviar,  Rhine  wine,  and  part  de  foie gras. 

"Ach,  Gott,  Fritz,  what  stuff  you  can  talk!" 
grumbled  his  father,  sipping  his  Johannisberger 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "  When  I  was  of 
your  age,  Fritz,  I  had hush,  what  is  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Hahn  put  down  his  glass  with  such  an 
energy  that  half  of  the  precious  contents  was 
spilled. 

"Ac/i,  du  lieber  Gott"  he  cried  a  moment  later. 
"  Wie  ivunderschon  !  " 

From  a  mighty  cliff  overhanging  the  road,  about 
a  hundred  feet  distant,  came  a  long  yodling  call, 
peculiar  to  the  Tyrol,  sung  in  a  superb  ringing 
baritone.  It  soared  over  the  mountain  peaks  and 
died  away  somewhere  among  the  Ingent  glaciers. 
And  just  as  the  last  faint  note  was  expiring,  a 
girl's  voice,  fresh  and  clear  as  a  dew-drop,  took  it 
up  and  swelled  it  and  carolled  it  until,  from  sheer 
excess  of  delight,  it  broke  into  a  hundred  leaping, 
rolling,  and  warbling  tones,  which  floated  and  gam- 
bolled away  over  the  highlands,  while  soft-winged 
echoes  bore  them  away  into  the  wide  distance. 

"  Father,"  said  Fritz,  who  was  now  lying  out- 
stretched on  a  soft  Scotch  plaid  smoking  the  most 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  9 

fragrant  of  weeds;  "if  you  can  get  those  two 
voices  to  the  '  Haute  Noblesse/  for  the  next  sea- 
son, it  is  ten  thousand  thalers  in  your  pocket ;  and 
I  shall  only  charge  you  ten  per  cent,  for  the  sug- 
gestion." 

"  Suggestion,  you  blockhead  !  Why,  the  thought 
flashed  through  my  head  the  very  moment  I  heard 
the  first  note.  But  hush — there  they  are  again." 

From  the  cliff,  sung  to  the  air  of  a  Tyrolese  folk- 
song, came  this  stanza : 

• 

Tell  me,  Ilka  on  the  hill-top, 
\Vhile  the  Alpine  breezes  blow, 
Are  thy  golden  locks  as  golden 
As  they  were  a  year  ago  ? 
(Yodle)     Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  !     Hohlio-oh  ! 

The  effect  of  the  yodle,  in  which  both  the  bari- 
tone of  the  cliff  and  the  Alpine  soprano  united, 
was  so  melodious  that  Mr.  Hahn  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  swore  an  ecstatic  oath,  while  Fritz,  from 
sheer  admiring  abstraction,  almost  stuck  the 
lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into  his  .mouth.  The 
soprano  answered  : 

Tell  me,  Hansel  in  the  valley, 
While  the  merry  cuckoos  crow, 
Is  thy  bristly  beard  as  bristly 
As  it  was  a  year  ago  ? 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  !     Hohli-oh  ! 
I* 


io  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

The  yodling  refrain  this  time  was  arch,  gay — 
full  of  mocking  laughter  and  mirth.  Then  the 
responsive  singing  continued : 

Hansel:  Tell  me,  Ilka  on  the  hill-top, 

While  the  crimson  glaciers  glow, 
Are  thine  eyes  as  blue  and  beaming 
As  they  were  a  year  ago  ? 

Both:  Hohli-ohli,  etc. 


Ilka:       Hansel,  Hansel  in  the  valley, 
I  will  tell  you,  tell  you  true ; 
If  mine  eyes  are  blue  and  beaming, 
What  is  that,  I  pray,   to  you  ? 

Both:  Hohli-ohli,  etc 

Hansel:  Tell  me,  Ilka  on  the  hill-top, 
While  the  blushing  roses  blow, 
Are  thy  lips  as  sweet  for  kissing 
As  they  were  a  year  ago? 

Both:  Hohli-ohli,  etc. 

Ilka:       Naughty  Hansel  in  the  valley, 
Naughty  Hansel,  tell  me  true, 
If  my  lips  are  sweet  for  kissing, 
What  is  that,  I  pray,  to  you  ? 

Both :  Hohli-ohli,  etc. 

Hansel:  Tell  me,   Ilka  on  the  hill-top, 
While  the  rivers  seaward  flow, 
Is  thy  heart  as  true  and  loving 
As  it  was  a  year  ago  ? 

Both:  Hohli-ohli,  etc. 


Ilka  on  the  Hit  I- top.  II 


Ilka :  Dearest  Hansel  in  the  valley, 
I  will  tell  you,  tell  you  true. 
Yes,  my  heart  is  ever  loving, 
True  and  loving  unto  you  ! 

Both :  Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  !     Hohli-oh  ! 


For  a  few  moments  their  united  voices  seemed 
still  to  be  quivering  in  the  air,  then  to  be  borne 
softly  away  by  the  echoes  into  the  cool  distance  of 
the  glaciers.  A  solitary  thrush  began  to  warble 
on  a  low  branch  of  a  stunted  fir-tree,  and  a  grass- 
hopper raised  its  shrill  voice  in  emulation.  The 
sun  was  near  its  setting  ;  the  bluish  evening 
shadows  crept  up  the  sides  of  the  ice-peaks,  whose 
summits  were  still  flushed  with  expiring  tints  of 
purple  and  red. 

Mr.  Hahn  rose,  yawned  and  stretched  his  limbs. 
Fritz  threw  the  burning  stump  of  his  cigar  into  the 
depths  of  the  ravine,  and  stood  watching  it  with 
lazy  interest  while  it  fell.  The  guide  cleared  away 
the  remnants  of  the  repast  and  began  to  resaddle 
the  horses. 

"  Who  was  that  girl  we  heard  singing  up  on  the 
Alp?"  said  Mr.  Hahn,  with  well-feigned  indiffer- 
ence, as  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  made  a 
futile  effort  to  mount.  "  Curse  the  mare,  why 
don't  you  make  her  stand  still  ?  " 

"  Pardon,  your  honor,"  answered  the  guide  stol- 
idly ;  "but  she  isn't  used  to  the  saddle.  The 


12  Ilka  on  the  Hill- top. 

girl's  name  is  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  She  is  the  best 
singer  in  all  the  valley." 

"  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top  !  How — where  does  she 
live  ?  " 

"  She  lives  on  a  farm  called  the  Hill-top,  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  Mayrhofen." 

"  And  the  man  who  answered — is  he  her  sweet- 
heart ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  honor.  They  have  grown  up  to- 
gether, and  they  mean  to  marry  some  time,  when 
they  get  money  enough  to  buy  out  the  old  woman." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  his  name  was  ?  " 

"  Hansel  the  Hunter.  He  is  a  garnet  polisher 
by  trade,  because  his  father  was  that  before  him  ; 
but  he  is  a  good  shot  and  likes  roving  in  the  woods 
better  than  polishing  stones." 

"  Mm,"  grumbled  Mr.  Hahn,  mounting  with  a 
prodigious  effort. 


II. 

IT  was  in  the  autumn  of  1863,  only  a  few  weeks 
after  Mr.  Harm's  visit  to  Ginzling  and  Dornauberg. 
There  were  war  and  rumors  of  war  in  the  air.  The 
Austrians  and  the  Prussians  were  both  mobilizing 
army-corps  after  army-corps,  and  all  the  Tyrolese 
youth,  liable  to  service,  were  ordered  to  join  their 
regiments.  The  Schlcswig-Holstein  question  was 
being  violently  debated  in  the  German  and  the 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  13 

English  press,  the  former  clamoring  for  blood,  the 
latter  counselling  moderation.  The  Danish  press 
was  as  loud-mouthed  as  any,  and,  if  the  battles 
could  have  been  fought  with  words,  would  no  doubt 
have  come  out  victorious. 

It  had  been  a  sad  day  at  the  Hill-top.  Early  in 
the  morning  Hansel,  with  a  dozen  other  young 
fellows  of  the  neighborhood,  had  marched  away  to 
the  music  of  fife  and  drum,  and  there  was  no  know- 
ing when  they  would  come  back  again.  A  dismal 
whitish  fog  had  been  hovering  about  the  fields  all 
day  long,  but  had  changed  toward  evening  into  a 
fine  drizzling  rain, — one  of  those  slow,  hopeless 
rains  that  seem  to  have  no  beginning  and  no  end. 
Old  Mother  Uberta,  who,  although  she  pretend- 
ed to  be  greatly  displeased  at  Ilka's  matrimonial 
choice,  persisted  in  holding  her  responsible  for  all 
her  lover's  follies,  had  been  going  about  the  house 
grumbling  and  scolding  since  the  early  dawn. 

"  Humph,"  said  Mother  Uberta,  as  she  lighted 
a  pine-knot  and  stuck  it  into  a  crack  in  the  wall 
(for  it  was  already  dark,  and  candles  were  expen- 
sive), "  it  is  a  great  sin  and  shame — the  lad  is  nei- 
ther crooked  nor  misshapen — the  Lord  has  done 
well  enough  by  him,  Heaven  knows  ;  and  yet  never 
a  stroke  of  work  has  he  done  since  his  poor  father 
went  out  of  the  \vorld  as  naked  as  he  came  into  it. 
A  shiftless,  fiddling,  and  galavanting  set  they  have 
always  been,  and  me  then  as  has  only  this  one 


14  Ilka  on  the  Hill- top. 

lass,  givin'  her  away,  with  my  eyes  wide  open,  into 
misery." 

Ilka,  who  was  sitting  before  the  open  fireplace 
mingling  her  furtive  tears  with  the  wool  she  was 
carding,  here  broke  into  a  loud  sob,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  You  always  say  mean  things  to  me,  mother, 
when  Hansel  is  away,"  sobbed  she,  "  but  when  he 
is  here,  you  let  on  as  if  you  liked  him  ever  so 
much." 

The  mother  recognized  this  as  a  home-thrust, 
and  wisely  kept  silent.  She  wet  her  finger-tips, 
twirled  the  thread,  stopped  the  wheel,  inspected 
some  point  in  its  mechanism  with  a  scowl  of  intense 
preoccupation,  and  then  spun  on  again  with  a  se- 
vere concentration  of  interest  as  if  lovers  were  of 
small  consequence  compared  to  spinning-wheels. 
Mother  Ubcrta  was  a  tall,  stately  woman  of  fifty, 
with  a  comely  wrinkled  face,  and  large,  well-mod- 
elled features.  You  saw  at  once  that  life  was  a 
serious  business  to  her,  and  that  she  gave  herself 
no  quarter. 

"  Humph  !  "  she  began  after  a  while  with  that 
indefinable  interjection  of  displeasure  which  defies 
all  spelling.  "  You  talk  like  the  witless  creature 
that  you  are.  Didn't  I  tell  the  lad,  two  years  ago, 
Michaelmas  was,  that  the  day  he  could  pay  off  the 
mortgage  on  the  farm,  he  should  have  you  and  the 
farm  too  ?  And  eight  hundred  and  fifty  florins 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  15 

oughtn't  to  frighten  a  man  as  has  got  the  right 
spirit  in  him.  And  there  was  Ruodi  of  Ganzel- 
stein,  as  has  got  a  big  farm  of  his  own,  and  Casper 
Thinglen  with  fifteen  hundred  a-comin'  to  him 
when  his  grandfather  dies ;  and  you  sendin'  them 
both  off  with  worse  grace  than  if  they  had  been 
beggars  askin'  you  for  a  shillin'.  Now,  stop  your 
snivellin'  there,  I  tell  you.  You  are  like  your  poor 
sainted  father, —  God  bless  him  where  he  lies, — he 
too  used  to  cry,  likely  enough,  if  a  flea  bit  him." 

At  this  moment  Mother  Uberta's  monologue  was 
interrupted  by  a  loud  rapping  on  the  door  ;  she 
bent  down  to  attach  the  unfinished  thread  properly, 
but  before  she  had  completed  this  delicate  opera- 
tion, the  door  was  opened,  and  two  men  entered. 
Seeing  that  they  were  strangers  she  sent  them  a 
startled  glance,  which  presently  changed  into  one 
of  defiance.  The  fire  was  low,  and  the  two  men 
stood  but  dimly  defined  in  the  dusky  light ;  but 
their  city  attire  showed  at  once  that  they  were  not 
Tyrolese.  And  Mother  Uberta,  having  heard 
many  awful  tales  of  what  city-dressed  men  were 
capable  of  doing,  had  a  natural  distrust  of  the  spe- 
cies. 

"And  pray,  sir,  what  may  your  errand  be?" 
she  asked  sternly,  taking  the  burning  pine-knot 
from  its  crack  and  holding  it  close  to  the  face  of 
the  tallest  stranger. 

"  My  name  is    Hahn,   madam,"  answered   the 


1 6  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

person  whose  broad  expanse  of  countenance  was 
thus  suddenly  illuminated,  "  and  this  is  my  son, 
Mr.  Fritz  Hahn.  Allow  me  to  assure  you,  madam, 
that  our  errand  here  is  a  most  peaceful  and  friendly 
one,  and  that  we  deeply  regret  it,  if  our  presence 
incommodes  you." 

"  Ilka,  light  the  candles,"  said  Mother  Uberta, 
sullenly.  "  And  you,"  she  continued,  turning 
again  to  Mr.  Hahn,  "  find  yourself  a  seat,  until  we 
can  see  what  you  look  like." 

"  What  a  vixen  of  an  old  woman  !  "  whispered 
the  proprietor  of  the  "  Haute  Noblesse  "  to  his  son, 
as  they  seated  themselves  on  the  hard  wooden 
bench  near  the  window. 

"  Small  chance  for  the  '  Haute  Noblesse,'  I  fear," 
responded  Fritz,  flinging  his  travelling  cap  on  the 
clean-scoured  deal  table. 

Ilka,  who  in  the  meanwhile  had  obeyed  her 
mother's  injunction,  now  came  forward  with  two 
lighted  tallow  dips,  stuck  in  shining  brass  candle- 
sticks, and  placed  them  on  the  table  before  the 
travellers.  She  made  a  neat  little  courtesy  before 
each  of  them,  to  which  they  responded  with  pat- 
ronizing nods. 

"Parblcu!  Ellc  cst  charmantc!"  exclaimed 
Fritz,  fixing  a  bold  stare  on  the  girl's  blushing  face. 

"  Bicn  charmantc"  replied  Mr.  Hahn,  who  took 
a  great  pride  in  the  little  French  he  had  picked  up 
when  he  carried  a  napkin  over  his  shoulder. 


•          Ilka  on  the  Hi  I  I- top.  17 

And  indeed,  Ilka  was  cJiarmante  as  she  stood 
there  in  the  dim  candle-light,  her  great  innocent 
eyes  dilated  with  child-like  wonder,  her  thick  blond 
braids  hanging  over  her  shoulders,  and  the  pictur- 
esque Tyrolese  costume — a  black  embroidered 
velvet  waist,  blue  apron,  and  short  black  skirt — 
setting  off  her  fine  figure  to  admirable  advantage. 
She  was  a  tall,  fresh-looking  girl,  of  stately  build, 
without  being  stout,  with  a  healthy  blooming  coun- 
tenance and  an  open,  guileless  expression.  Most 
people  would  have  pronounced  her  beautiful,  but 
her  beauty  was  of  that  rudimentary,  unindividual- 
ized  kind  which  is  found  so  frequently  among  the 
peasantry  of  all  nations.  To  Fritz  Hahn,  however^ 
who  was  not  a  philosophical  observer,  she  seemed 
the  most  transcendent  phenomenon  his  eyes  had 
ever  beheld. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  madam,"  began 
Mr.  Hahn  after  a  pause,  during  which  Mother 
Uberta  had  been  bristling  silently  while  firing  de- 
fiant glances  at  the  two  strangers,  "  I  am  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  great  establishment  in  Berlin — the 
'  Haute  Noblesse' — you  may  have  heard  of  it." 

"  No,  I   never  heard  of  it,"  responded  Mother 
Uberta,  emphatically,  as  if  anxious  to  express  her 
disapproval,    on    general   principles,    of  whatever' 
statements  Mr.  Hahn  might  choose  to  make. 

"  Well,  well,  madam,"  resumed  the  latter,  a 
trifle  disconcerted,  "it  makes  very  little  difference 


1 8  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

whether  you  have  heard  of  it  or  not.  I  see,  how- 
ever, that  you  are  a  woman  of  excellent  common 
sense,  and  I  will  therefore  be  as  brief  as  possible — 
avoid  circumlocutions,  so  to  speak." 

"Yes,  exactly,"  said  Mother  Uberta,  nodding 
impatiently,  as  if  eager  to  help  him  on. 

"Madame  Uberta, — for  that,  as  I  understand,  is 
your  honored  name, — would  you  like  to  get  one 
thousand  florins  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  how  I  should  get  'em,"  an- 
swered the  old  woman  sharply.  "  I  should  n't  like 
to  get  'em  by  stealin'." 

*'  I  mean,  of  course,  if  you  had  honestly  earned 
them,"  said  Hahn. 

"  I  am  afeard  honesty  with  you  and  with  me  ain't 
exactly  the  same  thing." 

Mr.  Hahn  was  about  to  swear,  but  mindful  of  his 
cherished  enterprise,  he  wisely  refrained. 

•'  I  beg  leave  to  inform  you,  Madame  Uberta," 
he  observed,  "  that  it  is  gentlemen  of  honor  you 
have  to  deal  with,  and  that  whatever  proposals  they 
may  make  you  will  be  of  an  honorable  character." 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that,  I  am  sure," 
responded  the  undaunted  Uberta. 

'Three  weeks  ago,  when  we  were  travelling  in 
this  region,"  continued  Hahn,  determined  not  to 
allow  his  temper  to  be  ruffled,  "  we  heard  a  most 
wonderful  voice  yodling  in  the  mountains.  We 
went  away,  but  have  now  returned,  and  having 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  19 

learned  that  the  voice  was  your  daughter's,  we  have 
come  here  to  offer  her  a  thousand  florins  if  she  will 
sing  her  native  Tyrolese  airs  for  eight  weeks  at  our 
Concert  Garden,  the  '  Haute  Noblesse.'  ' 

"  One  thousand  florins  for  eight  weeks,  moth- 
er !  "  exclaimed  Ilka,  who  had  been  listening  to 
Harm's  speech  with  breathless  interest.  "Then  I 
could  pay  off  the  mortgage  and  we  should  not  have 
to  pay  interest  any  more,  and  I  should  have  one 
hundred  and  fifty  florins  left  for  my  dowry." 

"  Hush,  child,  hush  !  You  don't  know  what  you 
are  talkin'  about,"  said  the  mother  severely.  Then 
turning  to  Hahn  :  "  I  should  like  to  put  one  ques- 
tion to  both  of  you,  and  when  you  have  answered 
that,  I'll  give  my  answer,  which  there  is  no  wrig- 
glin'  out  of.  If  the  old  woman  went  along,  would 
ye  then  care  so  much  about  the  singin'  of  the 
daughter  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  by  all  means,"  responded  Hahn 
promptly  ;  but  Fritz  was  so  absorbed  in  polishing 
his  finger-nails  with  a  little  instrument  designed 
especially  for  that  purpose,  that  he  forgot  to 
answer. 

A  long  consultation  now  followed,  and  the  end 
of  it  was  that  Ilka  agreed  to  go  to  Berlin  and  sing 
for  eight  weeks,  in  her  national  costume,  on  con- 
dition that  her  travelling  expenses  and  those  of  her 
mother  should  be  defrayed  by  the  manager.  Mr. 
Hahn  also  agreed  to  pay  for  the  board  and  lodg- 


2O  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

ings  of  the  two  women  during  their  sojourn  in  the 
capital  and  to  pay  Ilka  the  one  thousand  florins 
(and  this  was  a  point  upon  which  Mother  Uberta 
strenuously  insisted)  in  weekly  instalments. 

The  next  day  the  contract  was  drawn  up  in  legal 
form,  properly  stamped  and  signed';  whereupon 
Mother  Uberta  and  Ilka  started  with  Halm  and 
Fritz  for  Berlin. 


III. 

THE  restaurant  of  the  "  Haute  Noblesse"  was  a 
splendid  specimen  of  artistic  decoration.  The  walls 
were  frescoed  with  all  sorts  of  marvellous  hunting 
scenes,  which  Fritz  had  gradually  incorporated  in 
his  own  autobiography.  Here  stags  were  fleeing 
at  a  furious  speed  before  a  stout  young  gentleman 
on  horseback,  who  was  levelling  his  deadly  aim  at 
them  ;  there  the  same  stout  young  gentleman, 
with  whiskers  and  general  appearance  slightly 
altered,  was  standing  behind  a  big  tree,  firing  at  a 
hare  who  was  coming  straight  toward  him,  pur- 
sued by  a  pack  of  terrible  hounds  ;  again,  on  a 
third  wall,  the  stout  young  gentleman  had  under-; 
gone  a  further  metamorphosis  which  almost  en- 
dangered his  identity  ;  he  was  standing  at  the  edge 
of  a  swamp,  and  a  couple  of  ducks  were  making 
somersaults  in  the  air,  as  they  fluttered  with 
bruised  wings  down  to  where  the  dogs  stood  ex- 


Ilka  on  the  Hill- top.  21 

pecting  them  ;  on  wall  number  four,  which  con- 
tained the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  the  collection,  the  young 
Nimrod,  who  everywhere  bore  a  more  or  less  re- 
mote resemblance  to  Fritz  Hahn,  was  engaged  in 
a  mortal  combat  with  a  wild  boar,  and  was  per- 
forming miracukms  feats  of  strength  and  prowess. 
The  next  room, — to  which  it  was,  for  some  un- 
known reason,  deemed  a  high  privilege  to  be  ad- 
mitted,— was  ornamented  with  a  variety  of  trophies 
of  the  chase,  which  were  intended,  no  doubt,  as 
incontestable  proofs  of  the  veracity  of  the  frescoed 
narrative.  There  were  stuffed  stags'  heads  crown- 
ed with  enormous  antlers  (of  a  species,  as  a  natu- 
ralist asserted,  which  is  not  found  outside  of  North 
America),  heads  of  bears,  the  insides  of  whose 
mouths  were  painted  in  the  bloodiest  of  colors, 
and  boars,  whose  upward-pointed  tusks  gave  evi- 
dence of  incredible  blood-thirstiness.  Even  the 
old  clock  in  the  corner  (a  piece  of  furniture  which 
every  customer  took  pains  to  assure  Mr.  Hahn 
that  he  envied  him)  had  a  frame  of  curiously  carv- 
ed and  intertwisted  antlers,  the  ingenious  work- 
manship of  which  deserved  all  the  admiration 
which  it  received.  Mr.  Hahn  had  got  it  for  a  song 
at  an  auction  somewhere  in  the  provinces  ;  but  the 
history  of  the  clock  which  Fritz  told  omitted  men- 
tioning this  incident. 

In  this  inner  room  on  the   iQth  of  April,  1864, 
Mr.  Hahn  and  his  son  were  holding  a  solemn  con- 


22  Ilka  on  the  Hill- top. 

sultation.  The  news  of  the  fall  of  Diippel,  and  the 
consequent  conquest  of  all  Schleswig,  had  just 
been  received,  and  the  capital  was  in  a  fever  of 
warlike  enthusiasm.  That  two  great  nations  like 
the  Prussians  and  the  Austrians,  counting  together 
more  than  fifty  millions,  could  conquer  poor  little 
Denmark,  with  its  two  millions,  seemed  at  that 
time  a  great  and  glorious  feat,  and  the  conquerors 
have  never  ceased  to  be  proud  of  it.  Mr.  Hahn, 
of  course,  was  overflowing  with  loyalty  and  patri- 
otism, which,  like  all  his  other  sentiments,  he  was 
anxious  to  convert  into  cash.  He  had  therefore 
made  arrangements  for  a  Sicgcsfest,  on  a  magnifi- 
cent scale,  which  was  to  take  place  on  the  second 
of  May,  when  the  first  regiments  of  the  victorious 
army  were  expected  in  Berlin.  It  was  the  details 
of  this  festival  which  he  and  Fritz  had  been  plot- 
ting in  the  back  room  at  the  restaurant,  and  they 
were  both  in  a  state  of  agreeable  agitation  at  the 
thought  of  the  tremendous  success  which  would,  no 
doubt,  result  from  their  combined  efforts.  It  was 
decided  that  Ilka,  whom  by  various  pretexts  Mr. 
Hahn  had  managed  to  detain  in  Berlin  through  the 
whole  winter,  should  appear  in  a  highly  fantastic 
costume  as  Gcrmania,  and  sing  "  Die  Wacht  am 
Rhcin  "  and  "  Hcil  dir  im  Siegeskranz,"  as  a  greet- 
ing to  the  returning  warriors.  If  the  weather 
proved  favorable,  the  garden  was  to  be  brilliantly 
illuminated,  and  the  likenesses  of  King  Wilhelm, 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  23 

Bismarck,  and  von  Moltke  were  to  appear  in  gas- 
jets,  each  surmounting  a  triumphal  arch,  which 
was  to  be  erected  in  front  of  the  stage  and  at  the 
two  entrances  to  the  garden. 

"  As  regards  that  Tyrolese  wench,"  said  Fritz, 
as  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  "  are  you  sure  we  can 
persuade  her  to  don  the  Germania  costume  ?  She 
seems  to  have  some  pretty  crooked  notions  on 
some  points,  and  the  old  woman,  you  know,  is  as 
balky  as  a  stage  horse." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  Fritzchen,  leave  that  to  me," 
replied  the  father,  confidently.  "  I  know  how  to 
manage  the  women.  Thirty  years'  practice,  my 
dear — thirty  years'  practice  goes  for  more  in  such 
matters  than  a  stripling  like  you  can  imagine." 

This  remark,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  irritate 
Mr.  Fritz  exceedingly.  He  thrust  his  hands  deep- 
ly into  his  pockets,  and  began  to  stalk  up  and 
down  the  floor  with  a  sullen,  discontented  air. 

"Aha!  you  old  fox,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"you  have  been  hunting  on  my  preserves.  But 
I'll  catch  you  in  your  own  trap,  as  sure  as  my  name 
is  Fritz." 

"  The  sly  young  rascal  !  "  thought  Mr.  Hahn  ; 
"  you  have  been  sniffing  in  your  father's  cupboard, 
have  you  ?  " 

"  Fritz,  my  dear,"  he  said  aloud,  stretching  him- 
self with  a  long,  hypocritical  yawn,  "it  is  ridicu- 
lous for  two  fellows  like  you  and  me  to  wear  masks 


24  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

in  each  other's  presence.  We  don't  care  a  straw 
for  the  whole  Sieges  business,  do  we,  Fritz,  except 
for  the  dollars  and  cents  of  it  ?  I  am  deucedly 
sleepy,  and  I  am  going  to  bed." 

"And  so  am  I,  father  dear,"  responded  Fritz, 
with  a  sudden  outburst  of  affection.  "  Yes,  yes, 
father,"  he  continued  heartily,  "  you  and  I  under- 
stand each  other.  I  am  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  I 
am — he,  he  !  " 

And  with  the  most  effusive  cordiality  this  affec- 
tionate parent  and  son  separated,  with  the  avowed 
purpose  of  seeking  oblivion  in  slumber,  in  their 
respective  apartments. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  doing  the  old  fellow  in- 
justice, after  all,"  thought  Fritz,  as  he  clasped  his 
father's  hand  once  more  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair- 
case. 

"The  young  gosling  hasn't  ventured  into  such 
deep  water  as  I  thought,"  murmured  the  happy 
father,  as  he  stood  listening  to  Fritz's  footsteps  re- 
echoing through  the  empty  corridors. 


IV. 

MR.  HAIIX,  SR.,  having  satisfied  himself  as  to 
his  son's  sincerity,  retired  to  his  private  chamber ; 
not  for  the  purpose  of  going  to  rest,  however,  but 
in  order  to  make  an  elaborate  toilet,  having  com- 
pleted which,  he  hailed  a  tlroschke  and  drove  to 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  25 

an  obscure  little  street  in  the  Friedrich-Wilhelm 
Stadt,  where  he  ordered  the  coachman  to  stop. 
As  he  was  preparing  to  dismount,  he  saw  to  his 
astonishment  another  droschke  driving  away  from 
the  door  which  he  was  intending  to  enter. 

"  Hm,"  growled  Hahn,  "  if  she  has  been  mak- 
ing acquaintances,  she  isn't  the-girl  I  took  her  for. 
But  there  are  other  people  living  in  the  house,  and 
the  visit  may  not  have  been  for  her." 

Clinging  fondly  to  this  hope,  he  climbed  with 
wary  steps  two  flights  of  dark  and  narrow  stairs, 
which  was  no  easy  feat  for  an  elderly  gentleman  of 
his  bulk.  As  he  reached  the  second  landing,  pant- 
ing and  breathless,  he  found  himself  in  violent  con- 
tact with  another  person,  who,  like  himself,  seemed 
to  be  fumbling  for  the  bell-handle. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  voice  in  the  dark. 

"  What,    you    sneaking    young    villain  !  "    cried,. 
Hahn  in  great  wrath  (for  the  voice  was   only  too 
familiar  to  him)  ;    "I  might  have  known  you  were 
up  to  some  devilish  trick,  or  you  wouldn't " 

Here  the  senior  Hahn  choked,  and  was  seized 
with  a  violent  coughing  fit. 

"  You  miserable  old  sinner  !  "  hissed  Fritz ; 
"  the  devil  has  already  got  his  finger  on  your 
throat." 

This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Hahn  ;  he  made  a 
rush  for  his  rival,  and  in  a  moment  he  and  Fritz 
were  grappling  furiously  in  the  dark.  It  seemed 


26  Ilka  on  the  Hi II- top. 

about  an  even  chance  who  was  to  be  precipitated 
down  the  steep  staircase  ;  but  just  as  the  father 
was  within  an  inch  of  the  dangerous  edge,  the  hall 
door  was  torn  open,  and  Mother  Uberta,  followed 
by  Ilka  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  sprang  forward, 
grasped  the  combatants  in  her  strong  arms  and 
flung  them  against  the  opposite  wall.  They  both 
fell  on  the  floor,  but  each  managed,  without  seri- 
ous injury,  to  extricate  himself  from  the  other's  em- 
brace. 

"  You  are  a  fine,  well-behaved  lot,  you  are  !" 
broke  out  Mother  Uberta,  planting  herself,  with 
arms  akimbo,  in  front  of  the  two  culprits,  and  dis- 
pensing her  adjectives  with  equal  liberality  to  both. 

"  It  was  a  mistake,  madam,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Hahn  huskily,  as  he  pulled  out  his  handkerchief, 
and  began  to  whip  the  dust  oft"  his  trowsers. 

The  wreath  of  thin  hair  which  he  had  carefully 
combed,  so  as  to  make  the  nakedness  of  his  crown 
less  conspicuous,  was  bristling  toward  all  the  points 
of  the  compass.  His  tall  hat  had  gone  on  an  inde- 
pendent journey  down  the  stairs,  and  was  heard 
tumbling  .deliberately  from  step  to  step.  Fritz, 
who  had  recovered  himself  much  more  rapidly, 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  himself  borne 
any  part  in  the  disgraceful  scene  ;  he  looked  at  his 
father  with  kind  of  a  pitying  superiority,  and  began 
to  assist  him  in  the  repair  of  his  toilet,  with  the  air 
of  an  ofikious  outsider,  all  of  which  the  crest-fallen 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  27 

father  endured  with  great  fortitude.  He  seemed 
only  anxious  to  explain  the  situation  to  the  two 
women,  who  were  still  viewing  him  with  marked 
disapproval. 

"  It  was  all  a  mistake,  madam — a  great  mistake," 
he  kept  repeating. 

"  A  great  mistake  !  "  ejaculated  Mother  Uberta, 
contemptuously.  "  This  isn't  a  time  to  be  makin' 
mistakes  outside  the  door  of  two  lonely  women." 

"  It  is  fifteen  minutes  past  nine,"  said  Hahn 
meekly,  pulling  a  corpulent  gold  watch  from  the 
pocket  of  his  waistcoat. 

"  Madam,"  said  Fritz,  without  the  slightest  air 
of  apology,  "  I  came  here  to  consult  you  on  a  mat- 
ter of  business,  which  would  bear  no  delay." 

"  Exactly,  exactly,"  interrupted  Hahn  eagerly. 
"  So  did  I,  a  matter  of  business  which  would  bear 
no  delay." 

"  Well,  Vaterchen,  we  are  simple  country  women, 
and  we  don't  (Understand  city  manners.  But  if  you 
want  to  see  me  on  business,  I  shall  be  at  home  to- 
morrow at  twelve  o'clock." 

So  saying,  Mother  Uberta  slammed  the  door  in 
the  faces  of  her  visitors,  and  left  them  to  grope 
their  way  in  the  dark  down  the  steep  stairway. 
It  was  highly  characteristic,  both  of  the  senior 
and  the  junior  Hahn,  that  without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation they  drove  home  amicably  in  the  same 
droschke. 


28  Ilka  on  tke  Hitl-top. 

Ilka's  engagement  at  the  "  Haute  Noblesse  "  in 
the  autumn  had  proved  a  great  success,  and 
Mother  Uberta,  who  was  never  averse  to  earning 
money,  had,  without  difficulty,  been  persuaded  to 
remain  in  Berlin  during  the  winter,  on  condition  of 
the  renewal  of  their  contract  for  another  six  weeks 
in  the  spring.  Ilka  was  in  the  meanwhile  to  take 
lessons  in  singing  at  Harm's  expense,  possibly  with 
a  view  to  future  distinction  as  a  prima  donna  of  the 
opera.  Her  maestro  had  told  her  repeatedly  that 
she  had  naturally  a  better  voice  than  Nilsson,  and 
that,  if  she  could  dry  up  for  ever  her  fountain  of 
tears,  she  might  become  a  great  artiste.  For  Ilka 
had  the  deplorable  habit  of  crying  on  very  slight 
provocation.  The  maestro,  with  his  wild  hair,  his 
long,  polished  nails,  and  his  frantic  gesticulations, 
frightened  amV  distressed  her  ;  she  thought  and 
spoke  of  him  as  a  kind  of  curious  animal,  and  noth- 
ing could  persuade  her  that  he  and  she  belonged 
to  the  same  species.  Nor  did  Mr.  Hahn  and  Fritz 
seem  to  her  more  than  half  human.  Their  con- 
stant presents  and  attentions  sometimes  annoyed, 
and  frequently  alarmed  her.  She  could  not  rid 
herself  of  the  apprehension,  that  behind  their  hon- 
eyed words  and  manners  they  were  hiding  some 
sinister  purpose.  She  could  not  comprehend  how 
her  mother  could  talk  so  freely  and  fearlessly  with 
them.  She  thought  of  Hansel,  who  was  away  in 
the  war,  and  many  an  evening  she  stood  outside 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  29 

the  telegraph-office  with  a  quaking  heart,  waiting 
for  the  bulletin  with  the  names  of  the  dead  and  the 
wounded  ;  but  Hansel's  name  was  never  among 
them.  And  many  a  night  she  lay  awake,  yearning 
for  Hansel,  praying  for  him,  and  blessing  him.  She 
seemed  to  hear  his  gay  and  careless  laugh  ringing 
from  Alp  to  Alp — how  different  from  the  polite 
smirk  of  the  junior,  the  fat  grin  of  the  senior  Hahn! 
She  saw  his  tall,  agile  figure  standing  upon  a  rock 
leaning  upon  his  gun,  outlined  against  the  blue 
horizon, — and  she  heard  his  strong  clear  voice  yod- 
ling  and  calling  to  her  from  afar.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  Ilka  did  not  thrive  in  Berlin  as 
well  as  her  mother  did  ;  just  as  the  tender-petaled 
alpine  rose  can  only  breathe  the  cool  breezes  of  its 
native  mountains,  and  withers  and  droops  if  trans- 
planted to  a  garden. 

Mother  Uberta  was  by  no  means  blind  to  the 
fact  that  both  Fritz  and  his  father  had  designs  on 
her  daughter,  and  having  convinced  herself  that 
their  prosperity  resteg!  on  a  solid  basis,  she  was  not 
disinclined  to  favor  their  suits.  The  only  difficulty 
was  to  make  a  choice  between  them  ;  and  having 
ascertained  that  Fritz  was  entirely  dependent  upon 
his  father's  bounty,  she  quickly  decided  in  favor  of 
the  father.  But  she  was  too  wise  to  allow  Mr. 
Hahn  to  suspect  that  he  was  a  desirable  son-in-law, 
being  rather  addicted  to  the  belief  that  men  only 
worship  what  seems  utterly  beyond  their  reach. 


30  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

Ilka,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  not  a  party  to  these 
speculations ;  to  her  the  Hahns  appeared  equally 
undesirable  in  any  capacity  whatsoever. 

As  for  the  proprietor  of  the  "  Haute  Noblesse," 
I  believe  he  was  suffering  from  an  honest  infatua- 
tion. He  admired  Ilka's  face,  he  admired  her  neck, 
her  figure,  her  voice,  her  ankles  as  displayed  by  the 
short  Tyrolese  skirt ;  he  wandered  about  in  a  sort 
of  frenzy  of  unrest,  and  was  never  happy  except  in 
her  presence.  That  a  certain  amount  of  specula- 
tion entered  into  love's  young  dream,  I  cannot 
positively  deny  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  the  emotion 
was  as  sincere  as  any  that  Mr.  Hahn's  bosom  had 
ever  harbored.  Whether  he  should  allow  her  to 
sing  in  public  after  she  had  become  his  wife  was 
a  point  about  which  he  sometimes  worried,  but 
which  he  ended  by  deciding  in  the  affirmative. 
It  was  a  splendid  investment  for  the  "  Haute 
Noblesse." 

Mr.  Fritz's  matrimonial  speculations  took  a 
somewhat  different  turn.  He  raved  to  his  friends 
about  the  perfection  of  Ilka's  physical  develop- 
ment;  talked  about  her  "  points "  as  if  she  had 
been  a  horse.  So  much  of  cynicism  always  min- 
gled with  his  ardor  that  his  devotion  could  hardly 
be  dignified  by  the  name  of  love.  He  was  con- 
vinced that  if  he  could  keep  Ilka  for  some  years  in 
Berlin  and  persuade  her  to  continue  cultivating  her 
voice,  she  wou.ld  some  day  be  a  great  prima  donna. 


Ilka  on  the  Hill- top.  31 

And  Fritz  had  an  idea  that  prima  donnas  always 
grew  immensely  rich,  and  married  worthless  hus- 
bands whom  they  allowed  great  liberties  in  finan- 
cial matters.  Fritz  had  no  objection  to  playing  this 
subordinate  part,  as  long  as  he  could  be  sure  of 
"having  a  good  time."  Beyond  this  point  his 
ambition  had  never  extended.  In  spite  of  his 
great  confidence  in  his  own  irresistibility,  and  his 
frequent  boasts  of  the  favors  he  had  received  from 
the  maiden  of  his  choice,  he  knew  in  his  heart  that 
his  wooing  had  so  far  been  very  unprosperous,  and 
that  the  prospects  for  the  future  were  not  encour- 
aging. Ilka  could  never  rid  herself  of  the  impres- 
sion that  Fritz  was  to  be  taken  very  seriously, — 
that,  in  fact,  there  was  something  almost  awful 
about  him.  She  could  laugh  at  old  Hahn's  jokes, 
and  if  he  attempted  to  take  liberties  she  could  push 
him  away,  or  even  give  him  a  slap  on  his  broad 
back.  But  Fritz's  talk  frightened  her  by  its  very 
unintelligibility  ;  his  mirth  seemed  terrible  ;  it  was 
like  hearing  a  man  laugh  in  his  sleep ;  and  his 
touch  made  her  shudder. 


V. 

THE  return  of  the  first  regiments  of  the  united 
armies  was  delayed  until  after  the  middle  of  May, 
and  the  Sicgesfest  accordingly  had  to  be  postponed. 
But  the  delay  was  rather  in  Mr.  Hahn's  favor,  as  it 


32  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

gave  him  ample  time  to  perfect  his  arrangements, 
so  that,  when  the  day  arrived,  the  "  Haute  No- 
blesse" presented  a  most  brilliant  appearance. 
Vividly  colored  transparencies,  representing  the 
most  sanguinary  battle  scenes  in  more  or  less  fic- 
titious surroundings  were  suspended  among  the 
trees ;  Danish  officers  were  seen  in  all  sorts  of 
humble  attitudes,  surrendering  their  swords  or 
begging  for  mercy,  while  the  Prussian  and  Aus- 
trian heroes,  maddened  with  warlike  fury,  stormed 
onward  in  the  path  of  glory  and  victory.  The  gas- 
jet  programme,  with  the  royal  and  military  por- 
traits, was  carried  out  to  perfection  ;  and  each  new 
wonder  was  hailed  with  immense  enthusiasm  by  the 
assembled  multitude.  Innumerable  Chinese  lan- 
terns glimmered  throughout  the  garden,  and  from 
time  to  time  red,  white,  and  blue  magnesium  lights 
sent. up  a  great  blaze  of  color  among  the  trees,  now 
making  the  budding  leaves  blush  crimson,  now  sil- 
vering them,  as  with  hoar-frost,  or  illuminating 
their  delicate  tracery  with  an  intense  blue  which 
shone  out  brilliantly  against  the  nocturnal  sky. 
Kvcn  the  flower-beds  were  made  to  participate  in 
the  patriotic  frenzy ;  and  cunning  imitations,  in 
colored  glass,  of  tulips,  lilies,  and  roses,  with  little 
gas-jets  concealed  in  their  chalices,  were  scattered 
among  the  natural  flowers,  which  looked  like  ghosts 
of  their  real  selves  among  the  splendid  counterfeits. 
In  order  to  tune  the  audience  into  perfect  accord 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  33 

with  the  occasion,  Mr.  Hahn  had  also  engaged 
three  monster  bands,  which,  since  early  in  the  af- 
ternoon, had  been  booming  forth  martial  melodies 
from  three  different  platforms  draped  in  national 
banners. 

The  hour  was  now  approaching  when  Germania 
was  to  lift  up  her  voice  to  celebrate  the  glorious 
achievements  of  her  sons.  The  audience,  which 
consisted  largely  of  soldiers  and  officers,  were 
thronging  forward  to  the  tribune  where  she  was 
advertised  to  appear,  and  the  waiters,  who  had 
difficulty  in  supplying  the  universal  demand  for 
beer,  had  formed  a  line  from  the  bar  to  the  plat- 
form, along  which  the  foam-crowned  schooners 
were  passing  in  uninterrupted  succession.  Fritz, 
who  was  fond  of  fraternizing  with  the  military  pro- 
fession, had  attached  himself  to  a  young  soldier  in 
Austrian  uniform  with  the  iron  cross  upon  his 
bosom.  They  were  seated  amicably  together  at  a 
small  table  near  the  stage,  and  the  soldier,  by 
liberal  treats  of  beer,  had  been  induced  to  relate 
some  of  his  adventures  in  the  war.  He  was  a  tall, 
robust  man,  with  a  large  blonde  mustache  and  an 
open,  fearless  countenance.  He  talked  very 
modestly  about  his  own  share  in  the  victories,  and 
cooled  Fritz's  enthusiasm  by  the  extreme  plainness 
of  his  statements. 

"  It  was  rather  an  uneven  game  at  the  start," 
he  said.  "  They  were  so  few  and  we  were  so 


34  Hk&  °n  the  Hill-top. 

many.  We  couldn't  have  helped  whipping  them, 
even  if  we  had  done  worse  than  we  did." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  we  were  not 
brave,"  responded  Fritz,  with  an  ardor  which  was 
more  than  half  feigned. 

"  No,  I  don't  say  that,"  said  the  warrior,  gravely. 
"  We  were  brave,  and  so  were  they.  Therefore 
the  numbers  had  to  decide  it." 

He  emptied  his  glass  and  rose  to  go. 

"  No,  wait  a  moment,"  urged  Fritz,  laying  hold 
of  his  arm.  "Take  another  glass.  You  must 
stay  and  hear  Germania.  She  is  to  sing  '  Die 
Wacht  am  Rhein '  and  '  Heil  dir  in  Siegeskranz." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  soldier,  seating  him- 
self again.  "  I  have  furlough  for  to-night,  and  I 
can  stay  here  as  well  as  anywhere." 

Two  more  glasses  were  ordered,  and  presently 
arrived. 

"Listen!"  began  Fritz,  leaning  confidentially 
across  the  table.  "  I  suppose  you  have  a  sweet- 
heart ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,  God  bless  her,"  replied  the  other 
simply,  "though  I  haven't  seen  her  these  six 
months,  and  not  heard  from  her,  either.  She 
isn't  much  of  a  hand  for  writing,  and,  somehow, 
I  never  could  get  the  right  crooks  on  the  let- 
ters." 

"  Here's  to  her  health,"  said  Fritz,  lifting  his 
glass  and  touching  it  to  that  of  his  companion. 


Ilka  on  the  Hill- top.  35 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  responded  the  latter,  and 
drained  the  beer  mug  at  one  draught. 

They  sat  for  a  while  in  silence,  Fritz  trying  to 
estimate  the  pecuniary  value  of  the  audience,  the 
soldier  gazing,  with  a  half-sad  and  dreamy  expres- 
sion, into  the  dark  sky. 

"  Curious  lot,  the  women,"  broke  out  the  junior 
Hahn,  chuckling  to  himself,  as  if  absorbed  in  some 
particularly  delightful  retrospect.  "  There  is  the 
girl,  now,  who  is  to  sing  as  Germania  to-night, — 
and,  between  you  and  me,  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  she  is  rather  smitten  with  me.  She  is  as 
fine  a  specimen  of  a  woman  as  ever  trod  in  two 
shoes.;  splendid  arms,  a  neck  like  alabaster  with 
the  tiniest  tinge  of  red  in  it,  and — well,  I  might 
expatiate  further,  but  I  wont.  Now,  you  wouldn't 
think  it  of  a  girl  like  that ;  but  the  fact  is,  she  is  as 
arch  and  coquettish  as  a  kitten.  It  was  only  the 
other  night  I  went  to  see  her — the  old  woman  was 
in  the  room — 

A  tremendous  burst  of  applause  completely 
drowned  Fritz's  voice,  as  Germania  walked  out 
upon  the  stage.  She  was  dressed  in  white,  flow- 
ing robes,  with  a  golden  zone  about  her  waist  and 
a  glittering  diadem  in  her  hair.  A  mantle  of  the 
finest  white  cashmere,  fastened  with  a  Roman 
clasp  on  her  left  shoulder  and  drawn  through  the 
zone  on  the  right  side,  showed  the  fierce  Prussian 
eagle,  embroidered  in  black  and  gold.  A  minia- 


36  Ilka,  on  the  Hill-top. 

ture  copy  of  the  same  glorious  bird,  also  in  gilt 
embroidery,  shone  on  her  breast.  She  had  been 
elaborately  trained  by  her  maestro  as  to  how  she 
was  to  step  the  stage,  what  attitudes  she  was  to 
assume,  etc.,  and  the  first  part  of  the  programme 
she  performed  very  creditably,  and  with  sole  refer- 
ence to  her  instructions. 

The  orchestra  began  to  rumble  something  by 
way  of  an  introduction.  The  soldier  in  the  Aus- 
trian uniform  at  Fritz's  table  turned  pale,  and  sat 
staring  fixedly  upon  the  stage.  Ilka  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  out  upon  the  surging  mass  of 
humanity  at  her  feet ;  she  heard  the  clanking  of 
the  scabbards  and  swords,  and  saw  the  white  and 
the  blue  uniforms  commingled  in  friendly  confu- 
sion. Where  was  Hansel  now — the  dear,  gay, 
faithful  Hansel  ?  She  struck  out  boldly,  and  her 
strong,  sonorous  voice  soared  easily  above  the 
orchestral  accompaniments.  "  Heil  dir  im  Sieges- 
kranz  !  " — she  was  hailing  the  returning  warriors 
with  a  song  of  triumph,  while  Hansel,  perhaps,  lay 
on  some  bloody  battle-field,  with  sightless  eyes 
staring  against  the  awful  sky.  Ilka's  voice  began 
to  tremble,  and  the  tears  flooded  her  beautiful 
eyes.  The  soldier  in  the  Austrian  uniform  trem- 
bled, too,  and  never  removed  his  gaze  from  the 
countenance  of  the  singer.  There  was  joy  and  tri- 
umph in  her  song  ;  but  there  was  sorrow,  too — 
sorrow  for  the  many  brave  ones  that  remained  be- 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  37 

hind,  sorrow  for  the  maidens  that  loved  them  and 
the  mothers  that  wept  for  them.  As  Ilka  with- 
drew, after  having  finished  the  last  stanza,  the 
audience  grew  almost  frantic  with  enthusiasm  ;  the 
men  jumped  up  on  benches  and  tables,  shouted, 
and  swung  their  hats,  and  even  the  women  cheered 
at  the  tops  of  their  voices.  A  repetition  was 
loudly  called  for,  and  Ilka,  although  herself  over- 
come with  emotion,  was  obliged  to  yield.  She 
walked  up  to  the  footlights  and  began  to  yodle 
softly.  It  sounded  strangely  airy  and  far  away. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  ear  and  listened  for  a 
moment,  as  if  she  expected  a  reply  ;  but  there  was 
a  breathless  silence  in  the  audience.  Only  a  heavy 
sigh  came  from  the  table  where  Fritz  sat  with  the 
Austrian  soldier.  The  yodle  grew  louder ;  then 
suddenly  some  one  sprang  up,  not  a  dozen  rods 
from  the  stage,  and  sang,  in  a  deep,  magnificent 
baritone  : 

Tell  me,  Ilka  on  the  hill-top, 
While  the  rivers  seaward  flow, 
Is  thy  heart  as  true  and  loving 
As  it  was  a  year  ago  ? 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  !     Hohli-oh  ! 

Ilka  stood  for  a  while  as  if  stunned  ;  her  eyes 
peered  in  the  direction  whence  the  voice  had 
come  ;  her  face  lighted  up  with  a  sweet,  serene 


38  Ilka  on  the  Hill-top. 

happiness ;    but   the    tears    streamed    down    her 
cheeks  as  she  answered  : 


Dearest  Hansel  in  the  valley, 
I  will  tell  you,  tell  you  true, 
Yes,  my  heart  is  ever  loving, 
True  and  loving  unto  you  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho  !     Hohli-oh  ! 

Suddenly  she  made  a  leap  over  the  edge  of  the 
stage,  and  in  the  next  moment  the  gorgeous  Ger- 
mania  lay  sobbing  on  the  soldier's  bosom.  It 
made  a  very  touching  tableau,  and  some  of  the 
male  sceptics  among  the  audience  were  inclined  to 
view  it  in  that  light.  Fritz  Hahn,  as  soon  as  the 
idea  was  suggested  to  him,  eagerly  adopted  it,  and 
admitted  in  confidence  to  half  a  dozen  friends, 
whom  he  had  allowed  to  suspect  the  fair  singer's 
devotion  to  him,  that  it  was  all  a  pre-arranged 
effect,  and  that  he  was  himself  the  author  of  it. 

"  Germania  weeping  on  the  breast  of  her  return- 
ing son,"  he  said.  "  What  could  be  more  appro- 
priate on  a  day  like  this  ?  " 

The  maidens  and  matrons,  however,  would  lis- 
ten to  no  such  theory ;  they  wept  openly  at  the 
sight  of  the  reunited  lovers,  and  have  until  this 
day  maintained  that  the  scene  was  too  spontaneous 
and  genuine  to  be  a  product  of  Mr.  Hahn's  inven- 
tive genius. 


Ilka  on  the  Hill-top.  39 

The.  singing  of  "  Die  VVacht  am  Rhein,"  although 
advertised  on  the  programme,  had  to  be  indefi- 
nitely postponed,  for  Germania  had  suddenly  dis- 
appeared, and  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The 
Austrian  soldier,  however,  was  seen  later  in  the 
evening,  and  some  one  heard  him  inquiring  in  a 
fierce  tone  for  the  junior  Hahn  ;  but  the  junior 
Hahn,  probably  anticipating  some  unpleasantness, 
had  retired  from  the  public  gaze. 


VI. 

Six  weeks  after  this  occurrence — it  was  St.  John's 
day — there  was  a  merry  festival  in  the  village  of 
Mayrhofen.  Ilka  and  Hansel  were  bride  and 
groom,  and  as  they  returned  from  church  the 
maidens  of  the  village  walked  in  the  wedding  pro- 
cession and  strewed  flowers  before  them.  And  in 
the  evening,  when  the  singing  and  fiddling  and 
dancing  were  at  an  end,  and  the  guests  had  de- 
parted, Mother  Uberta  beckoned  Hansel  aside, 
and  with  a  mysterious  air  handed  him  some- 
thing heavy  tied  up  in  the  corner  of  a  handker- 
chief. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  is  eight  hundred  and  fifty 
florins.  It  is  Ilka's  own  money  which  she  earned 
in  Berlin.  Now  you  may  pay  off  the  mortgage, 
and  the  farm  is  yours." 

"  Mother  Uberta,"  answered  Hansel  laughing, 


4O  Ilka  on  the  Hill- top. 

and  pulling  out  a  skin  purse  from  his  bosom. 
"  Here  is  what  I  have  been  saving  these  many 
years.  It  is  eight  hundred  and  fifty  florins." 

"  Hansel,  Hansel,"  cried  Mother  Uberta  in 
great  glee,  "  it  is  what  I  have  always  said  of  you. 
You  are  a  jewel  of  a  lad." 


ANNUNCIATA. 


i. 

IN  the  gallery  of  one  of  the  famous  Roman  vil- 
las which  commands  a  splendid  view  of  the  city, 
Mr.  Henry  Vincent,  a  young  American,  was 
lounging.  Judging  by  his  appearance  he  was  a 
college  graduate,  or,  to  speak  more  definitely,  a 
graduate  of  Harvard  ;  for  he  had  that  jaunty  walk 
and  general  trimness  of  attire  which  are  the  tradi- 
tional attributes  of  the  academical  denizens  of 
Cambridge.  He  swung  his  arms  rather  more  than 
was  needed  to  assist  locomotion,  and  betrayed  in 
an  unobtrusive  manner  a  consciousness  of  being 
well  dressed.  His  face,  which  was  not  without 
fine  possibilities,  had  an  air  of  well-bred  neutrality  ; 
you  could  see  that  he  assumed  a  defensive  attitude 
against  aesthetic  impressions, — that  even  the  Sis- 
tine  Madonna  or  the  Venus  of  Milo  would  not 
have  surprised  him  into  anything  like  enthusiasm 
or  abject  approval.  It  was  evident,  too,  that  he 
was  a  little  bit  ashamed  of  his  Baedeker,  which  he 
consulted  only  in  a  semi-surreptitious  way,  and 


42  Annunciata. 

plunged  into  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat  whenever 
he  believed  himself  to  be  observed.  Such  a  con- 
tingency, however,  seemed  remote  ;  for  the  silence 
that  reigned  about  him  was  as  heavy  and  profound 
as  if  it  had  been  unbroken  since  creation's  day. 
The  large  marble  halls  had  a  grave  and  inhospita- 
ble air,  and  their  severe  magnificence  compelled 
even  from  our  apathetic  traveller  a  shy  and  reluc- 
tant veneration.  He  tried  to  fix  his  attention 
upon  a  certain  famous  Guido  which  was  attached 
by  hinges  to  the  wall,  and  which,  as  he  had  just 
learned  from  Baedeker,  was  a  marvel  of  color 
and  fine  characterization  ;  he  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments staring  with  a  blank  and  helpless  air,  as  if, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  beginning  to 
question  the  finality  of  his  own  judgment.  Then 
his  eyes  wandered  off  to  the  cornice  of  the  wall, 
whose  florid  rococo  upholstery  won  his  sincere  ap- 
proval. 

"  Hang  it !  "  he  murmured  impatiently,  pulling 
a  gold  watch  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "  That 
loon  Jack — he  never  does  keep  an  engagement." 

At  this  moment,  distant  footsteps  were  heard, 
which,  as  they  approached,  resounded  with  a  se- 
pulchral distinctness  on  the  marble  pavement. 
Presently  a  young  man  entered  breathlessly,  hold- 
ing his  hat  in  one  hand  and  a  white  handkerchief 
in  the  other. 

"  Harry,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "  I  have  found 


Anminciata.  43 

the  goddess  of  the  place.  Come  quick,  before  she 
vanishes.  It  is  a  rare  chance,  I  tell  you." 

He  seized  his  companion's  arm  and,  ignoring  his 
remonstrances,  almost  dragged  him  through  the 
door  by  which  he  had  entered. 

"  What  sort  of  lunacy  is  it  you  are  up  to  now, 
Jack?"  the  other  was  heard  to  grumble.  "I'll 
bet  ten  to  one  you  have  been  making  an  ass  of 
yourself." 

"  I  dare  say  I  have,"  retorted  Jack,  good-natur- 
edly ;  "a  man  who  has  not  the  faculty  of  making 
a  fool  of  himself  occasionally  is  only  half  a  man. 
You  would  be  a  better  fellow,  too,  Harry,  if  you 
were  not  so  deucedly  respectable  ;  a  slight  admix- 
ture of  folly  would  give  tone  and  color  to  your 
demure  and  rigid  propriety.  For  a  man  so  splen- 
didly equipped  by  fortune,  you  have  made  a  poor 
job  of  existence,  Harry.  When  I  see  you  bestow- 
ing your  sullen  patronage  upon  the  great  master- 
pieces of  the  past,  I  am  ashamed  of  you — yes,  by 
Jove,  I  am." 

"  Don't  you  bother  about  me,"  was  the  ungraci- 
ous response  of  his  comrade.  "  I  cut  my  eye-teeth  a 
good  while  before  you  did,  even  though  you  may  be 
a  few  years  older.  I'll  take  care  of  myself,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  and  of  you,  too,  if  you  get  yourself 
into  a  scrape,  which  you  seem  bent  upon  doing." 

"  Now,  do  be  amiable,  Harry,"  urged  the  other 
with  gentle  persuasiveness.  "  I  can't  take  it  upon 


44 


Annunciata. 


my  conscience  to  introduce  you  to  a  lady,  and  far 
less  to  a  goddess,  unless  you  promise  to  put  on 
your  best  behavior.  You  know  from  your  myth- 
ology that  goddesses  are  capable  of  taking  a  ter- 
rible vengeance  upon  mortals  who  unwittingly 
offend  them." 

Mr..  John  Cranbrook — for  that  was  the  name  of 
the  demonstrative  tourist — was  a  small,  neat-look- 
ing man,  with  an  eager  face  and  a  pair  of  dark, 
vivid  eyes.  His  features,  though  not  in  themselves 
handsome,  were  finely,  almost  tenderly,  modelled. 
His  nose  was  not  of  the  classical  type,  but  never- 
theless of  a  clear  and  delicate  cut,  and  his  nostrils 
of  extreme  sensitiveness.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a 
plqasant,  open,  and  enthusiastic  face, — a  face  in 
which  there  was  no  guile.  By  the  side  of  his 
robust  and  stalwart  friend,  Cranbrook  looked  al- 
most frail,  and  it  was  evident  that  Vincent,  who 
felt  the  advantages  of  his  superior  avoirdupois, 
was  in  the  habit  of  patronizing  him.  They  had 
been  together  in  college  and  had  struck  up  an 
accidental  friendship,  which,  to  their  mutual  sur- 
prise, had  survived  a  number  of  misunderstand- 
ings, and  even  extended  beyond  graduation. 
Cranbrook,  who  was  of  a  restless  and  impetuous 
temperament,  found  Vincent's  quiet  self-confidence 
very  refreshing  ;  there  was  a  massive  repose  about 
him,  an  unquestioning  acceptance  of  the  world  as 
it  was  and  an  utter  absence  of  intellectual  effort, 


Annunciata.  45 

,> 

which  afforded  his  friend  a  refuge  from  his  own 
self-consuming  ambition.  Cranbrook  had  always 
prophesied  that  Harry  would  some  day  wake  up 
and  commit  a  grand  and  monumental  piece  of 
folly,  but  he  hoped  that  that  day  was  yet  remote  ; 
at  present  it  was  his  rich  commonplaceness  and 
his  grave  and  comfortable  dulness  which  made 
him  the  charming  fellow  he  was,  and  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  forfeit  such  rare  qualities. 

Cranbrook's  own  accomplishments  were  not  of 
the  kind  which  is  highly  appreciated  among  under- 
graduates. His  verses,  which  appeared  anony- 
mously in  the  weekly  college  paper,  enjoyed  much 
popularity  in  certain  young  ladies'  clubs,  but  were 
by  the  professor  of  rhetoric  pronounced  unsound 
in  sentiment,  though  undeniably  clever  in  expres- 
sion. Vincent,  on  the  other  hand,  had  virtues 
which  paved  him  an  easy  road  to  popularity  ;  he 
could  discuss  base-ball  and  rowing  matters  with  a 
gravity  as  if  the  fate  of  the  republic  depended  up- 
on them  ;  he  was  moreover  himself  an  excellent 
"  catcher,"  and  subscribed  liberally  for  the  promo- 
tion of  athletic  sports.  He  did  not,  like  his  friend, 
care  for  "  honors,"  nor  had  he  the  slightest  desire 
to  excel  in  Greek  ;  he  always  reflected  the  average 
undergraduate  opinion  on  all  college  affairs,  and 
was  not  above  playing  an  occasional  trick  on  a 
freshman  or  a  professor.  As  for  Cranbrook,  he 
rather  prided  himself  on  being  a  little  exceptional, 


46  Annunciata. 

and  cherished  with  special  fondness  those  of  his 
tastes  and  proclivities  which  distinguished  him 
from  the  average  humanity.  He  had  therefore  no 
serious  scruples  in  accepting  Vincent's  offer  to  pay 
his  expenses  for  a  year's  trip  abroad.  Vincent,  he 
reasoned,  would  hardly  benefit  much  by  his  foreign 
experiences,  if  he  went  alone.  His  glance  would 
never  penetrate  beneath  the  surface  of  things,  and 
he  therefore  needed  a  companion,  whose  aesthetic 
culture  was  superior  to  his  own.  Cranbrook  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  was  such  a  companion,  and 
vowed  in  his  heart  to  give  Harry  full  returns  in  in- 
tellectual capital  for  what  he  expended  on  him  in 
sordid  metals.  Moreover,  Harry  had  a  clear  in- 
come of  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  a  year,  while 
he,  Cranbrook,  had  scarcely  anything  which  he 
could  call  his  own.  I  dare  say  that  if  Vincent  had 
known  all  the  benevolent  plans  which  his  friend 
had  formed  for  his  mental  improvement,  he  would 
have  thought  twice  before  engaging  him  as  his 
travelling  companion  ;  but  fortunately  :'he  was  so 
well  satisfied  with  his  own  mental  condition,  and 
so  utterly  unconscious  of  his  short-comings  in 
point  of  intellect,  that  he  could  not  have  treated 
an  educational  scheme  of  which  he  was  himself  to 
be  the  subject  as  anything  but  an  amiable  lunacy 
on  Jack's  part,  or  at  the  worst,  as  a  practical  joke. 
Jack  was  good  company  ;  that  was  with  him  the 
chief  consideration  ;  his  madness  was  harmless  and 


Annunciate,.  47 

had  the  advantage  of  being  entertaining  ;  he  was 
moreover  at  heart  a  good  fellow,  and  the  stanchest 
and  most  loyal  of  friends.  Harry  was  often  heard 
to  express  the  most  cheerful  confidence  in  Jack's 
future  ;  he  would  be  sure  to  come  out  right  in  the 
end,  as  soon  as  he  had  cut  his  eye-teeth,  and  very 
likely  Europe  might  be  just  the  thing  for  a  com- 
plaint like  his. 

II. 

AFTER  having  marched  over  nearly  half  a  mile 
of  marble  flag-stones,  interrupted  here  and  there 
by  strips  of  precious  mosaic,  the  two  young  men 
paused  at  the  entrance  to  a  long,  vaulted  corridor. 
White,  silent  gods  stood  gazing  gravely  from  their 
niches  in  the  wall,  and  the  pale  November  sun  was 
struggling  feebly  to  penetrate  through  the  dusty 
windows.  It  did  not  dispel  the  dusk,  but  gave  it 
just  the  tenderest  suffusion  of  sunshine. 

"  Stop,"  whispered  Cranbrook.  "  I  want  you 
to  take  in  the  total  impression  of  this  scene  before 
you  examine  the  details.  Only  listen  to  this 
primeval  stillness  ;  feel,  if  you  can,  the  stately 
monotony  of  this  corridor,  the  divine  repose  and 
dignity  of  these  marble  forms,  the  chill  immobility 
of  this  light.  It  seems  to  me  that,  if  a  full,  majes- 
tic organ-tone  could  be  architecturally  expressed, 
it  must  of  necessity  assume  a  shape  resembling  the 


48  Annunciata. 

broad,  cold  masses  of  this  aisle.  I  should  call  this 
an  architectonic  fugue, — a  pure  and  lofty  medita- 
tion— 

"Now,  do  give  us  a  rest,  Jack,"  interrupted 
Vincent  mercilessly.  "-I  thought  you  said  some- 
thing about  a  nymph  or  a  goddess.  Trot  her  out, 
if  you  please,  and  let  me  have  a  look  at  her." 

Cranbrook  turned  sharply  about  and  gave  his 
comrade  a  look  of  undisguised  disgust. 

"Harry,"  he  said  gravely,  "really  you  don't 
deserve  the  good  fortune  of  being  in  Italy.  I 
thought  I  knew  you  well ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
have  to  revise  my  judgment  of  you.  You  are  hope- 
lessly and  incorrigibly  frivolous.  I  know  it  is  un- 
gracious in  me  to  tell  you  so, — I,  who  have 
accepted  your  bounty  ;  but,  by  Jove,  Harry,  I 
don't  want  to  buy  my  pleasure  at  the  price  you 
seem  to  demand.  I  have  enough  to  get  home,  at 
all  events,  and  I  shall  repay  you  what  I  owe  you." 

Vincent  colored  to  the  edge  of  his  hair  ;  he  bit 
his  lip,  and  was  about  to  yield  to  the  first  impulse 
of  his  wrath.  A  moment's  reflection,  however, 
sobered  him  ;  he  gave  his  leg  two  energetic  cuts 
with  his  slender  cane,  then  turned  slowly  on  his 
heel  and  sauntered  away.  Cranbrook  stood  long 
gazing  sadly  after  him  ;  he  would  have  liked  to 
call  him  back,  but  the  aimless,  leisurely  gait  irri- 
tated him,  and  the  word  died  on  his  lips.  Every 
step  seemed  to  hint  a  vague  defiance.  "What 


Annunciata.  49 

does  it  matter  to  me,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "  what 
you  think  of  me  ?  You  are  of  too  little  account  to 
have  the  power  to  ruffle  my  temper."  As  the  last 
echo  of  the  retiring  footsteps  was  lost  in  the  great 
marble  silence,  Cranbrook  heaved  a  sigh,  and, 
suddenly  remembering  his  errand,  walked  rapidly 
down  the  corridor.  He  paused  before  a  round- 
arched,  doorless  portal,  which  led  into  a  large 
sunny  room.  In  the  embrazure  of  one  of  the  win- 
dows, a  young  girl  was  sitting,  with  a  drawing- 
board  in  her  lap,  apparently  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  a  marble  relief  which  was  suspended 
upon  the  wall.  From  where  Cranbrook  stood,  he 
could  see  her  noble  profile  clearly  outlined  against 
the  white  wall  ;  a  thick  coil  of  black  hair  was 
wound  about  the  back  of  her  head,  and  a  dark, 
tight-fitting  dress  fell  in  simple  folds  about  her 
magnificent  form.  There  was  a  simplicity  and  an 
unstudied  grace  in  her  attitude  which  appealed 
directly  to  Cranbrook's  aesthetic  nature.  Ever 
since  he  entered  Italy  he  had  been  on  the  alert  for 
romantic  impressions,  and  his  eager  fancy  instinc- 
tively lifted  every  commonplace  incident  that  ap- 
peared to  have  poetic  possibilities  in  it  into  the 
region  of  romance.  He  remembered  having  seen 
somewhere  a  statue  of  Clio  whose  features  bore  a 
remote  resemblance  to  those  of  the  young  girl  be- 
fore him — the  same  massive,  boldly  sculptured 
chin,  the  same  splendid,  columnar  throat,  the  same 


eo  Annunciata. 

grave  immobility  of  vision.  It  seemed  sacrilege 
to  approach  such  a  divine  creature  with  a  trivial 
remark  about  the  weather  or  the  sights  of  Rome, 
and  yet  some  commonplace  was  evidently  required 
to  pave  the  way  to  further  acquaintance.  Cran- 
brook  pondered  for  a  moment,  and  then  advanced 
boldly  toward  the  window  where  the  goddess  was 
sitting.  She  turned  her  head  and  flashed  a  pair  of 
brilliant  black  eyes  upon  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  signorina,"  he  said,  with  an  apol- 
ogetic cough.  "  I  see  you  are  drawing.  Perhaps 
you  could  kindly  tell  me  .where  one  can  obtain 
permission  to  copy  in  this  gallery." 

"  I  do  not  know,  signore,"  she  answered,  in  a 
low,  rich  voice.  "  No  one  ever  copies  here.  The 
prince  is  never  here,  and  his  major-domo  comes 
only  twice  a  year.  He  was  here  two  weeks  ago, 
so  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  he  will  return." 

"  But  you  seem  to  be  copying,"  the  young  man 
ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"  Ah,  sanctissima  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  vivid 
gesture  of  deprecation.  "No,  signore,  I  am  not 
copying.  I  am  a  poor,  ignorant  thing,  signore, 
not  an  artist.  There  was  once  a  kind  foreigner 
who  lodged  with  us  ;  he  was  an  artist,  a  most,  fa- 
mous artist,  and  he  amused  himself  with  me  while  I 
was  a  child,  and  taught  me  to  draw  a  little." 

"  And  perhaps  you  would  kindly  allow  me  to 
look  at  your  drawing  ?  " 


Annunciata.  51 

Cranbrook  was  all  in  a  flutter,;  he  was  amazed 
at  his  own  temerity,  but  the  situation  filled  him 
with  a  delicious  sense  of  adventure,  and  an  irresis- 
tible impulse  within  him  urged  him  on.  The  girl 
had  risen,  and,  without  the  slightest  embarrassment 
or  coquettish  reluctance  handed  him  her  drawing- 
board.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  she  was  sincere 
in  disclaiming  the  name  of  an  artist.  The  draw- 
ing was  a  mere  simple  outline  of  a  group,  repre- 
senting Briseis  being  led  away  from  her  lover  by 
the  messengers  of  Agamemnon.  The  king  stood 
on  one  side  ready  to  receive  her,  and  on  the  other, 
Achilles,  with  averted  face,  in  an  attitude  of  deep 
dejection.  The  natural  centre  of  the  group,  how- 
ever, was  the  figure  of  Briseis.  The  poise  of  her 
classic  head  as  she  looked  back  over  her  shoulder 
at  her  beloved  hero  was  full  of  the  tenderest  sug- 
gestions. She  seemed  to  offer  no  resistance  to  the 
messengers,  but  her  reluctant,  lingering  steps  were 
more  expressive  than  any  violent  demonstration. 
Cranbrook  saw  all  this  in  the  antique  relief,  but 
found  it  but  feebly,  and,  as  it  were,  stammeringly 
rendered  in  the  girl's  drawing.  The  lines  were 
firmly  and  accurately  traced  and  the  proportions 
were  approximately  correct  ;  but  the  deeper  senti- 
ment of  the  group  had  evidently  escaped  her,  and 
the  exquisite  delicacy  of  modelling  she  had  not 
even  attempted  to  imitate.  Cranbrook  had  in  his 
heart  to  admit  that  he  was  disappointed.  He 


C2  Annunciata. 

feared  that  it  was  rude  to  return  the  board  without 
a  word  of  favorable  comment,  but  he  disdained  to 
resort  to  any  of  those  ingenious  evasions  which 
serve  so  conveniently  as  substitutes  for  definite 
judgments.  The  girl,  in  the  meanwhile,  stood 
looking  into  his  face  with  an  air  of  frank  curiosity. 
It  was  not  his  opinion  of  her  work,  however,  which 
puzzled  her.  She  had  never  been  accustomed  to 
flattery,  and  had  no  idea  of  claiming  a  merit  which 
she  was  well  aware  did  not  belong  to  her.  She 
seemed  rather  to  be  wondering  what  manner  of 
man  her  critic  might  be,  and  whether  it  would  be 
safe  to  appeal  to  him  for  information  on  some  sub- 
jects which  lay  beyond  the  reach  of  her  own 
faculties. 

"  Signore,"  she  began  at  last,  a  little  hesitating- 
ly, "  I  suppose  you  are  a  learned  man  who  has 
read  many  books.  Perhaps  you  know  who  that 
man  is  with  the  big  helmet.  And  the  maiden 
there  with  the  bare  feet,  standing  between  the 
men — who  is  she  ?  She  looks  sad,  I  think,  and  yet 
the  large  man  who  seems  to  be  waiting  for  her  is 
well  made  and  handsome,  and  his  garments  appear 
to  be  precious.  His  shield  is  finely  wrought,  and 
I  am  sure  he  must  be  a  man  of  great  dignity." 

"  You  are  right,"  responded  Cranbrook,  to 
whom  her  guileless  talk  was  highly  entertaining. 

"  He  is  a  king,  and  his  name  is  Agamemnon. 
By  nationality  he  is  a  Greek " 


Annunciata.  53 

"Ah,  then  I  know  why  the  girl  is  sad,"  she 
interrupted,  eagerly.  "The  Greeks  are  all  thieves, 
Padre  Gregorio  says  ;  they  all  steal  and  lie,  and 
they  are  not  of  the  true  faith.  The  padre  has  been 
in  the  Greek  land  and  he  knows  their  bad  ways." 

"  The  padre  probably  means  the  modern  Greeks. 
I  know  very  little  about  them.  But  the  ancient 
Greeks  were  the  noblest  nation  the  world  has  ever 
seen." 

"Is  it  possible?  And  what  did  they  do  that 
was  so  great  and  noble  ?  Sanctissima  !  the  greatest 
nation  the  world  has  ever  seen  !  " 

These  exclamations  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of 
sincere  surprise  which  to  Cranbrook  was  very 
amusing.  The  conversation  was  now  fairly  started. 
The  American  told  with  much  expenditure  of  elo- 
quence the  story  of  "  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  the 
son  of  Peleus,"  and  of  the  dire  misfortunes  which 
fell  upon  the  house  of  Priamus  and  Atreus  in  con- 
sequence of  one  woman's  fatal  beauty.  The  girl 
sat  listening  with  a  rapt,  far-away  expression ; 
now  and.  then  a  breeze  of  emotion  flitted  across 
her  features  and  a  tear  glittered  in  her  eye  and 
coursed  slowly  down  over  her  cheek.  Cranbrook, 
too,  as  he  was  gradually  tuned  into  sympathy  with 
his  own  tale,  felt  a  strange,  shuddering  intoxication 
of  happiness.  Ha  did  not  perceive  how  the  time 
slipped  by  ;  be  began  to  shiver,  and  saw  that  the 
sun  was  gone.  The  girl  woke  up  with  a  start  as 


54  Annunciata. 

his  voice  ceased  and  looked  about  her  with  a  be- 
wildered air.  They  both  rose  and  walked  together 
through  the  long,  empty  halls  and  corridors.  He 
noticed  wonderingly  that  she  carried  a  heavy 
bunch  of  keys  in  her  hand  and  locked  each  door 
after  they  had  passed  through  it.  This  then  led  to 
some  personal  explanations.  He  learned  that  her 
name  was  Annunciata,  and  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  Antonio  Cesarelli,  the  gardener  of  the 
villa,  who  lived  in  the  house  with  the  loggias  which 
he  could  see  at  the  end  of  the  steep  plane  tree 
avenue.  If  he  would  like  to  pick  some  oranges, 
there  were  plenty  of  them  in  the  garden,  and  as 
the  prince  never  asked  for  them,  her  father  allowed 
her  to  eat  as  many  as  she  liked.  Would  he  not 
come  and  see  her  father  ?  He  was  a  very  good  and 
kind  man.  At  present  he  was  trimming  the  hedge 
up  on  the  terrace. 

During  this  colloquy  they  had  entered  the  gar- 
den, which  seemed  at  first  glance  a  great  luxuriant 
wilderness.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  gate  was  a 
huge  jungle  of  blooming  rose-bushes  whose  inter- 
twisted branches  climbed  the  tall  stuccoed  wall,  for 
the  possession  of  which  it  struggled  bravely  with 
an  equally  ambitious  and  vigorous  ivy.  Enormous 
bearded  cacti  of  fantastic  forms  spread  their  fat 
prickly  leaves  out  over  both  sides  of  the  pavement, 
leaving  only  a  narrow  aisle  in  the  middle  where 
locomotion  was  practicable.  A  long  flight  of  green 


Annunciata.  55 

and  slippery  stone  steps  led  up  to  a  lofty  terrace 
which  was  raised  above  the  rest  of  the  garden  by 
a  high  wall,  surmounted  by  a  low  marble  balus- 
trade. Here  the  palms  spread  their  fan-like  crowns 
against  the  blue  sky,  and  the  golden  fruit  shone 
among  the  dark  leaves  of  the  orange-trees.  A 
large  sculptured  Triton  with  inflated  cheeks  blew 
a  column  of  water  high  up  into  the  air,  and  half  a 
dozen  dolphins,  ridden  by  chubby  water-sprites, 
spouted  demurely  along  the  edges  of  a  wide  mar- 
ble basin.  A  noseless  Roman  senator  stood  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  wrapping  his  mossy  toga  about 
him,  with  a  splendid  gesture,  and  the  grave  images 
of  the  Caesars,  all  time-stained  and  more  or  less 
seriously  maimed,  gazed  forth  with  severe  dignity 
from  their  green,  leafy  niches. 

The  upper  garden  showed  signs  of  human  super- 
vision. A  considerable  area  was  occupied  by 
flower-beds,  laid  out  with  geometrical  regularity 
and  stiffness  ;  and  the  low  box-wood  hedges  along 
their  borders  had  a  density  and  preciseness  of  out- 
line which  showed  that  they  had  been  recently 
trimmed.  Stone  vases  of  magnificent  design  were 
placed  at  regular  intervals  along  the  balustrade ; 
and  in  the  middle  projection  of  the  terrace  stood  a 
hoary  table  with  a  broken  porphyry  plate,  sugges- 
tive of  coffee  and  old-time  costumes,  and  the  pon- 
derous gossip  of  Roman  grandees. 

Cranbrook  had  walked  for  a  while  silently  at 


56  Annunciata. 

Annunciata's  side.  He  was  deeply  impressed  with 
all  he  saw,  and  yet  a  dreamy  sense  of  their  un- 
reality was  gradually  stealing  over  him.  He  im- 
agined himself  some  wonderful  personage  in  an 
Eastern  fairy-tale,  and  felt  for  the  moment  as  if  he 
were  moving  in  an  animated  chapter  of  the  "  Ara- 
bian Nights."  He  had  had  little  hesitation  in 
asking  Annunciata  questions  about  herself ;  they 
seemed  both,  somehow,  raised  above  the  petty 
etiquette  of  mundane  intercourse.  She  had  con- 
fessed to  him  with  an  unthinking  directness  which 
was  extremely  becoming  to  her,  that  her  artistic 
aspirations  which  he  had  found  so  mysterious  were 
utterly  destitute  of  the  ideal  afflatus.  She  had,  as 
a  child,  learned  lace-making  and  embroidery,  and 
had  earned  many  a  lira  by  adorning  the  precious 
vestments  of  archbishops  and  cardinals.  She  was 
now  making  a  design  for  a  tapestry,  in  which  she 
meant  to  introduce  the  group  from  the  antique 
relief.  Her  father  allowed  her  to  save  all  she 
earned  for  her  dowry ;  because  then,  he  said,  she 
might  be  able  to  make  a  good  match.  This  latter 
statement  grated  a  little  on  Cranbrook's  sensitive 
ears  ;  but  a  glance  at  Annunciata's  face  soon  re- 
assured him.  She  had  the  air  of  stating  a  univer- 
sally recognized  fact  concerning  which  she  had 
never  had  occasion  to  reflect.  She  kept  prattling 
away  very  much  like  a  spoiled  child,  who  is  confi- 
dent that  its  voice  is  pleasant,  and  its  little  experi- 


Annunciata.  57 

ences  as  absorbing  to   its  listener  as  they  are  to 
itself. 

At  length,  by  many  devious  paths,  they  reached 
a  house  on  a  sunny  elevation,  at  the  western  ex- 
tremity of  the  garden.  It  was  a  house  such  as  one 
sees  only  in  Rome, — a  wide  expanse  of  stuccoed 
wall,  with  six  or  seven  windows  of  different  sizes 
scattered  at  random  over  its  surface.  Long  tufts 
of  fine  grass  depended  from  the  gutters  of  the  roof, 
and  the  plain  pillars  supporting  the  round  arches 
of  the  loggias  had  a  humid  and  weather-beaten 
look.  The  whole  edifice,  instead  of  asserting  itself 
glaringly  as  a  product  of  human  art,  blended  with 
soft  gradations  into  the  surrounding  landscape. 
Even  the  rude  fresco  of  the  Mother  of  Sorrows 
over  the  door  was  half  overgrown  with  a  greenish, 
semi-visible  moss  which  allowed  the  original  colors 
to  shine  faintly  through,  and  the  coarse  lines  of 
the  dial  in  the  middle  of  the  wall  were  almost 
obliterated  by  sun  and  rain.  But  what  especially 
attracted  Cranbrook's  attention  was  a  card,  hung 
out  under  one  of  the  windows,  upon  which  was 
written,  with  big,  scrawling  letters, — "  Apparta- 
mento  Mobiliato  cTAffitarsi"  He  determined  on 
the  spot  to  become  the  occupant  of  this  apartment 
whatever  its  deficiencies  might  be  ;  therefore, 
without  further  delay,  he  introduced  himself  to 
Annunciata's  mother,  Monna  Nina,  as  a  forcstiero 
in  search  of  lodgings ;  and,  after  having  gone 
3* 


58  Annunciata. 

through  the  formality  of  inspecting  the  room,  he 
accepted  Monna  Nina's  price  and  terms  with  an 
eagerness  which  made  the  excellent  woman  repent 
in  her  heart  that  she  had  not  asked  more. 

The  next  day  Cranbrook  parted  amicably  from 
Vincent,  who,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  beginning 
to  have  serious  doubts  of  his  sanity.  They  had 
had  many  a  quarrel  in  days  past,  but  Jack  had 
always  come  to  his  senses  again  and  been  the  first 
to  make  up.  Vincent  had  the  comfortable  cer- 
tainty of  being  himself  always  in  the  right,  and  it 
therefore  neveV  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  be 
his  place  to  apologize.  He  had  invariably  accepted 
Jack's  apologies  good-naturedly  and  consented 
gracefully  to  let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  even 
though  he  were  himself  the  offender  ;  and  the  glow 
of  conscious  virtue  which  at  such  times  pervaded 
him  well  rewarded  him  for  his  self-sacrifice.  But 
this  time,  it  seemed,  Jack  had  taken  some  myste- 
rious resolution,  and  his  reason  had  hopelessly  for- 
saken him.  He  even  refused  all  offers  of  money, 
and  talked  about  remaining  in  Rome  and  making 
his  living  by  writing  for  the  newspapers.  He 
cherished  no  ill-will  against  Harry,  he  said,  but 
had  simply  made  up  his  mind  that  their  tastes  and 
temperaments  were  too  dissimilar,  and  that  they 
would  both  be  happier  if  they  parted  company. 
They  would  see  each  other  frequently  and  remain 
on  friendly  terms.  No  one  was  blamable  for  the 


Annunciata.  59 

separation,  except  Nature,  who  had  made  them  so 
different.  With  these,  and  many  similar  assuran- 
ces, Cranbrook  shook  Vincent's  hand  and  repaired 
to  his  new  abode  among  the  palms  and  cypresses. 
And  yet  his  ears  burned  uncomfortably  as  he  drove 
away  in  the  fiacre.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
been  insincere  to  Harry,  even  by  implication  ;  but 
after  what  had  happened,  it  was  impossible  to 
mention  Annunciata's  name. 


III. 

IT  was  the  afternoon  of  Christmas-day,  six 
weeks  after  Cranbrook's  arrival  at  the  villa.  The 
air  was  soft  and  balmy  and  the  blooming  rose- 
bushes under  the  windows  sent  up  from  time  to 
time  delicious  whiffs  of  fragrance.  The  sky  was 
strangely  clear,  and  long,  cool  vistas  opened  to 
the  sight  among  the  cloud-banks  that  hung  over 
the  tops  of  the  Alban  Mountains.  Cranbrook  was 
sitting  out  on  the  loggia  reading  the  scene  in  the 
Odyssey  where  the  shipwrecked  Ulysses  steps  out 
from  the  copse  where  he  has  been  sleeping  and  in- 
terrupts the  ball-play  of  Nausicaa  and  her  maidens. 
How  pure  and  sweet  the  air  that  breathed  from 
these  pages  !  What  a  noble  and  dignified  maiden 
was  this  Nausicaa  !  At  this  moment  the  merry 
voice  of  Annunciata  was  heard  in  the  garden  below. 
The  young  man  let  his  book  drop  and  leaned  out 


60  Annunciata. 

over  the  wall.  There  she  stood,  tall  and  stately, 
receiving,  with  the  manner  of  a  good-natured  em- 
press, a  white-haired  priest  who  came  waddling 
briskly  toward  her. 

"  Bonafcsta,  Padre  Gregorio,"  she  cried,  seizing 
the  old  man's  hand.  "  Mother  is  going  to  have 
macaroni  for  supper  and  she  was  just  going  to  send 
Pietro  after  you.  For  you  know  you  promised  to 
be  with  us  this  blessed  day."  • 

"  Bonafesta,  child,"  responded  the  priest,  smil- 
ing all  over  his  large,  benevolent  face.  "  Padre 
Gregorio  never  forgets  his  promises,  and  least  of 
all  on  a  holy  Christmas-day." 

"  No,  I  knew  you  would  not  forget  us,  padre; 
but  you  are  all  out  of  breath.  You  have  been 
mounting  the  stairs  to  the  terrace  again  instead  of 
going  round  by  the  vineyard.  Come  and  sit  down 
here  in  the  sun,  for  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about 
something  important." 

And  she  led  the  priest  by  the  hand  to  a  stone 
bench  by  the  door  and  seated  herself  at  his  side. 

"  Padre,"  she  began,  with  a  great  earnestness  in 
her  manner,  "  is  it  true  that  the  Holy  Virgin  hates 
heretics  and  that  they  can  never  go  to  heaven  ?  " 

The  good  padre  was  evidently  not  prepared  for 
such  a  question.  He  gazed  at  Annunciata  for  a 
moment  in  helpless  bewilderment,  then  coughed  in 
his  red  bandanna  handkerchief,  took  a  deliberate 
pinch  of  snuff  and  began  : 


Annunciata.  61 

"  The  Holy  Virgin  is  gracious,  child,  and  she 
hates  no  one.  But  little  girls  should  not  trouble 
their  heads  with  things  that  do  not  concern  them." 

"  But  this  does  concern  me,  padre,"  retorted  the 
girl  eagerly.  "  I  went  this  morning  with  Signore 
Giovanni,  the  stranger  who  is  lodging  with  us, — 
for  he  is  a  very  good  and  kind  man,  padre  ;  I  went 
with  him  to  the  Aracceli  to  see  the  blessed  Bam- 
bino and  the  shepherds  and  the  Holy  Virgin. 
But  he  did  not  kneel,  and  when  I  told  him  of  the 
wonderful  things  which  the  Bambino  had  done,  he 
would  not  believe  me,  padre,  and  he  even  once 
laughed  in  my  face." 

"  Then  he  is  not  a  good  man,"  said  the  padre 
emphatically,  "  and  he  will  not  go  to  heaven,  un- 
less he  changes  his  faith  and  his  conduct  before 
God  takes  him  away." 

Cranbrook,  who  had  made  several  vain  attempts 
to  call  attention  to  his  presence,  now  rose  and 
through  the  window  re-entered  his  room.  The 
snatch  of  the  conversation  which  he  had  overheard 
had  made  him  uneasy  and  had  spoiled  his  happy 
Homeric  mood.  He  was  only  too  willing  to  put 
the  most  flattering  construction  upon  Annunciata's 
solicitude  for  his  fate  in  the  hereafter,  but  he  had 
to  admit  to  himself,  that"  there  was  something  in 
her  tone  and  in  the  frank  directness  of  her  manner 
which  precluded  such  an  interpretation.  He  had 
floated  along,  as  it  were,  in  a  state  of  delicious 


62  Annunciata. 

semi-consciousness  during  the  six  weeks  since  he 
first  entered  this  house.  He  had  established  him- 
self firmly,  as  he  believed,  in  the  favor  of  every 
member  of  the  family,  from  Antonio  himself  to  the 
two-year-old  baby,  Babetta,  who  spent  her  days 
contentedly  in  running  from  one  end  to  the  other 
of  a  large  marble  sarcophagus,  situated  under  a 
tall  stone  pine,  a  dozen  steps  from  the  house. 
Monna  Nina  could  then  keep  watch  over  her  from 
the  window  while  at  work,  and  the  high,  sculptured 
sides  of  the  sarcophagus  prevented  Babetta  from 
indulging  her  propensity  for  running  away.  Pietro, 
a  picturesque  vagabond  of  twelve,  who  sold  patri- 
otic match-boxes  with  the  portraits  of  Garibaldi 
and  Vittorio  Emanuele,  had  been  bribed  into  the 
stanchest  partisanship  for  the  foreigner  by  a  tick- 
et to  the  monkey  theatre  in  the  Piazza  delle 
Terme,  and  had  excited  his  sister's  curiosity  to  a 
painful  pitch  by  his  vivid  descriptions  of  the  won- 
derful performance  he  had  witnessed.  Antonio, 
who  was  a  quiet  and  laborious  man,  listened  with 
devout  attention  to  Cranbrook's  accounts  of  the 
foreign  countries  he  had  visited,  while  Monna 
Nina  sometimes  betrayed  an  invincible  scepticism 
regarding  facts  which  belonged  to  the  A  B  C  of 
transatlantic  existence,  "and  unhesitatingly  ac- 
quiesced in  statements  which  to  an  Italian  mind 
might  be  supposed  to  border  on  the  miraculous. 
She  would  not  believe,  for  instance,  that  hot  and 


Annunciata.  63 

cold  water  could  be  conducted  through  pipes  to 
the  fifth  and  sixth  story  of  a  house  and  drawn  ad 
libitum  by  the  turning  of  a  crank  ;  but  her  lodger's 
descriptions  of  .the  travelling  palaces  in  which  you 
slept  and  had  your  dinner  prepared  while  speeding 
at  a  furious  rate  across  the  continent,  were  listened 
to  with  the  liveliest  interest  and  without  the  slight- 
est misgiving.  She  had,  moreover,  well-settled 
convictions  of  her  own  concerning  a  number  of 
things  which  lay  beyond  Cranbrook's  horizon. 
She  had  a  great  dread  of  the  evil  eye  and  knew 
exactly  what  remedies  to  apply  in  order  to  coun- 
teract its  direful  effects  ;  she  wore  around  her  neck 
a  charm  which  had  been  blessed  by  the  pope  and 
which  was  a  sure  preventive  of  rheumatism  ;  and 
under  the  ceiling  of  her  kitchen  were  suspended 
bunches  of  medicinal  herbs  which  had  all  been 
gathered  during  the  new  moon  and  which,  in  cer- 
tain decoctions,  were  warranted  to  cure  nearly  all 
the  ailments  to  which  flesh  is  heir. 

To  Cranbrook  the  daily  companionship  with  these 
kind-hearted,  primitive  people  had  been  a  most  re- 
freshing experience.  As  he  wrote  to  a  friend  at 
home,  he  had  shaken  off  the  unwholesome  dust 
which  had  accumulated  upon  his  soul,  and  had  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  breathed  the  undiluted  air 
of  healthful  human  intercourse.  Annunciata  was 
to  him  a  living  poem,  a  simple  and  stately  epic, 
whose  continuation  from  day  to  clay  filled  his  life 


64  Annunciata. 

with  sonorous  echoes.  She  was  a  modern  Nausi- 
caa,  with  the  same  child-like  grandeur  and  uncon- 
scious dignity  as  her  Homeric  prototype.  It  was 
not  until  to-day  that  he  had  become  aware  of  the 
distance  which  separated  him  from  her.  They  had 
visited  together  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  in  Ara- 
cceli,  where  a  crude  tableau  of  the  Nativity  of  Christ 
is  exhibited  during  Christmas  week.  Her  devout- 
ness,  in  the  presence  of  the  jewelled  doll,  represent- 
ing the  infant  Saviour,  had  made  a  painful  impres- 
sion upon  him,  and  when,  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  compelling  his  reverence,  she  had  told  him 
of  the  miracles  performed  by  the  "  Bambino,"  he 
had  only  responded  with  an  incredulous  smile. 
She  had  sent  him  a  long,  reproachful  glance ;  then, 
as  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes,  she  had  hurried  away 
and  he  had  not  dared  to  follow  her. 

While  pursuing  these  sombre  meditations,  Cran- 
brook  was  seated — or  rather  buried — in  a  deep 
Roman  easy-chair,  whose  faded  tapestries  would 
have  been  esteemed  a  precious  find  by  a  relic- 
hunter.  Judging  by  the  baroque  style  of  its  decor- 
ations, its  tarnished  gilding,  and  its  general  air  h  la 
Pompadour,  it  was  evident  that  it  had  spent  its 
youthful  days  in  some  princely  palace  of  the  last 
century,  and  had  by  slow  and  gradual  stages  de- 
scended to  its  present  lowly  condition.  A  curious 
sense  of  the  evanescence  of  all  earthly  things  stole 
over  the  young  man's  mind,  as  his  thoughts  wan- 


Annunciata.  65 

dcred  from  his  own  fortunes  to  those  of  the  vener- 
able piece  of  furniture  which  was  holding  him  in  its 
ample  embrace.  What  did  it  matter  in  the  end,  he 
reasoned,  whether  he  married  his  Nausicaa  or  not  ? 
To  marry  a  Nausicaa  with  grace  was  a  feat  for  the 
performance  of  which  exceptional  qualities  were  re- 
quired. The  conjugal  complement  to  a  Nausicaa 
must  be  a  man  of  ponderous  presence  and  statu- 
esque demeanor — not  a  shrill  and  nervous  modern 
like  himself,  with  second-rate  physique,  and  a  mor- 
bidly active  intellect.  No,  it  mattered  little  what 
he  did  or  left  undone.  The  world  would  be  no 
better  and  no  worse  for  anything  he  could  do. 
Very  likely,  in  the  arms  of  this  chair  where  he  was 
now  sitting,  a  dozen  Roman  Romeos,  in  powdered 
wigs  and  silk  stockings,  had  pined  for  twice  that 
number  of  Roman  Juliets  ;  and  now  they  were  all 
dust,  and  the  world  was  moving  on  exactly  as  be- 
fore. And  yet  in  the  depth  of  his  being  there  was 
a  voice  which  protested  against  this  hollow  reason- 
ing ;  he  felt  to  himself  insincere  and  hypocritical  ; 
he  dallied  and  played  with  his  own  emotions. 
Every  mood  carried  in  itself  a  sub-consciousness 
of  its  transitoriness. 

The  daylight  had  faded,  and  the  first  faint  flush 
of  the  invisible  moon  was  pervading  the  air.  The 
undulating  ridge  of  the  Sabine  mountains  stood 
softly  defined  against  the  horizon,  and  here  and 
there  a  great,  flat-topped  stone  pine  was  seen  loom- 


66  Annunciata. 

ing  up  along  the  edges  of  the  landscape.  Cran- 
brook  ate  hurriedly  the  frugal  dinner  which  was 
served  him  from  a  neighboring  trattoria,  then 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  walked  out  into  the  garden. 
He  sat  for  a  while  on  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace, 
looking  out  over  the  green  campagna,  over  which 
the  moon  now  rose  large  and  red,  while  the  towers 
and  domes  of  the  city  stood,  dark  and  solemn,  in 
the  foreground.  The  bells  of  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore  were  tolling  slowly  and  pensively,  and  the 
sound  lingered  with  long  vibrations  in  the  still  air. 
A  mighty,  shapeless  longing,  remotely  aroused  or 
intensified  by  the  sound  of  the  bells,  shook  his  soul ; 
and  the  glorious  sight  before  him  seemed  to  weigh 
upon  him  like  an  oppressive  burden.  "Annun- 
ciata," came  in  heavy,  rhythmic  pulses  through  the 
air ;  it  was  impossible  not  to  hear  it.  The  bells 
were  tolling  her  name:  "  Annun-ciata,  Annun- 
ciata." Even  the  water  that  was  blown  from  the 
Triton's  mouth  whispered  softly,  as  it  fell,  "  An- 
nunciata, Annunciata." 

Cranbrook  was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps.  He  turned  his 
head  and  recognized,  by  the  conspicuous  shovel- 
hat,  the  old  priest  who  had  prophesied  such  a 
cheerful  future  for  him  in  the  hereafter.  And  was 
that  not  Annunciata  who  was  walking  at  his  side  ? 
Surely,  that  was  her  voice  ;  for  what  voice  was 
there  in  all  the  world  with  such  a  rich,  alluring  ca- 


Annunciata.  67 

dence  ?  And  that  firm  and  splendidly  unconscious 
walk — who,  with  less  than  five  generations'  practice 
could  even  remotely  imitate  it  ?  Beloved  Annun- 
ciata !  Wondrous  and  glorious  Annunciata !  In 
thy  humble  disguise  thou  art  nevertheless  a  god- 
dess, and  thy  majestic  simplicity  shames  the  shrill 
and  artificial  graces  of  thy  sisters  of  the  so-called 
good  society.  But  surely,  child,  thou  art  agitated. 
Do  not  waste  those  magnificent  gestures  on  the 
aged  and  callous  priest ! 

"  Thou  art  hard-hearted  and  cruel,  Padre  Gre- 
gorio  !  "  were  the  words  that  reached  Cranbrook's 
ears.  "  The  Holy  Virgin  would  not  allow  anyone 
to  suffer  forever  who  is  good  and  kind.  How  could 
he  help  that  his  father  and  his  mother  were  not  of 
the  right  faith  ?  " 

The  padre's  answer  he  could  not  distinguish  ;  he 
heard  only  an  eager  murmur  and  some  detached 
words,  from  which  he  concluded  that  the  priest  was 
expostulating  earnestly  with  her.  They  passed 
down  the  long  staircase  into  the  lower  garden,  and, 
though  their  forms  remained  visible,  their  voices 
were  soon  lost  among  the  whispering  leaves  and 
the  plashing  waters.  Cranbrook  followed  them 
steadily  with  his  eyes,  and  a  thrill  of  ineffable  joy 
rippled  through  his  frame.  He  had  at  last,  he 
thought,  the  assurance  for  which  he  had  yearned 
so  long.  Presently  he  saw  Annunciata  stop,  plunge 
her  hands  into  a  side-pocket,  and  pull  out  some- 


68  Annunciata. 

thing  which  he  imagined  to  be  a  key  ;  then  she  and 
the  padre  disappeared  for  a  few  moments  in  the 
gloom  of  a  deep  portal,  and  when  Annunciata  re- 
appeared she  was  alone.  She  walked  rapidly  back 
through  the  garden,  without  being  apparently  in 
the  least  impressed  by  the  splendor  of  the  night, 
mounted  the  stairs  to  the  terrace,  and  again  passed 
within  a  dozen  yards  of  where  Cranbrook  was  sit- 
ting, without  observing  him. 

"Annunciata,"  he  called  softly,  rising  to  follow 
her. 

"  Signore  Giovanni,"  she  exclaimed  wonderingly 
but  without  the  slightest  trace  of  the  emotion  which 
had  so  recently  agitated  her.  "  You  should  not 
sit  here  in  the  garden  so  late.  The  air  of  the  night 
is  not  good  for  the  foreigner." 

"  The  air  is  good  for  me  wherever  you  are,  An- 
nunciata," he  answered  warmly.  "  Come  and  walk 
with  me  here  down  the  long  plane  tree  avenue. 
Take  my  arm.  I  have  much  to  say  to  you  : 

1  *  *  *  In  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees,'  etc. 

'  In  such  a  night, 

Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls, 
And  sighed  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night.'  " 

She  took  the  arm  which  he  offered  her  silently, 
but  with  a  simple  dignity  which  a  princess  might 
have  envied  her. 


Annunciate.  69 

"  I  cannot  stay  out  long,"  she  said.  "  My  mo- 
ther would  miss  me." 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you  long.  I  have  only  a 
confession  to  make  to  you.  I  was  sitting  on  the 
loggia  this  afternoon  when  Padre  Gregorio  came, 
and  I  heard  what  you  said  to  him." 

He  had  expected  her  to  blush  or  show  some  sign 
of  embarrassment.  But  she  only  lifted  her  calm, 
clear  countenance  toward  him  and  said : 

"  You  were  kinder  and  better  than  all  the  men 
I  had  known,  and  it  gave  me  trouble  to  think  that 
you  should  be  unhappy  when  you  die.  Therefore 
I  asked  the  padre  ;  but  I  do  not  believe  any  more 
that  the  padre  is  always  right.  God  is  better  and 
wiser  than  he,  and  God  will  find  a  way  where  a 
priest  would  find  none." 

There  was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in 
the  way  she  uttered  these  simple  words.  Cran- 
brook,  although  he  was,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
disappointed  at  her  perfect  composure,  felt  the 
tears  mounting  to  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  shook  as 
he  answered : 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  my  lot  in  the  next  world, 
Annunciata ;  and  although  it  is  kind  of  you  to  be 
troubled  about  it,  I  fear  you  can  do  nothing  to  im- 
prove it.  But  my  fate  in  this  world  I  yearn  to  lay 
in  your  hands.  I  love  you  very  dearly,  Annunci- 
ata, and  all  I  need  to  make  me  what  I  aspire  to  be 
is  to  have  you  give  me  a  little  affection  in  return. 


•JQ  Annunciata. 

What  do  you  say,  Annunciata  ?  do  you  think  you 
could  ?  Would  you  be  my  wife,  and  go  with  me 
to  my  own  country  and  share  my  life,  whatever  it 
may  be." 

"  But  signore,"  she  replied,  after  a  moment's  de- 
liberation ;  "  my  mother  would  not  like  it,  and 
Babetta  would  cry  the  whole  day  long  when  I  was 
gone." 

"  I  am  speaking  seriously,  Annunciata,  and  you 
must  not  evade  my  question.  It  all  depends  upon 
you." 

"  No,  it  also  depends  upon  mother  and  Babetta. 
But  I  know  you  would  be  good  and  kind  to  me, 
Signore  Giovanni,  and  you  would  always  treat  me 
well ;  for  you  are  a  good  and  kind  man.  I  should 
like  to  be  your  wife,  I  think,  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  should  like  to  go  with  you  across  the 
great  sea1." 

Cranbrook  was  hopelessly  perplexed,  and  for  an 
instant  even  inclined  to  question  whether  she  might 
not  be  ridiculing  him  ;  but  a  glance  at  her  puzzled 
face  showed  him  that  she  was  grappling  earnestly 
with  the  great  problem,  and  apparently  endeavor- 
ing to  gain  time  by  uttering  the  first  thought  that 
suggested  itself  to  her  mind.  The  gloom  of  the 
plane-trees  now  enveloped  them,  and  only  here  and 
there  a  quivering  ray  of  moonlight  pierced  through 
the  dense  roof  of  leaves.  The  marble  phantoms  of 
the  Caesars  gazed  sternly  at  the  daring  intruders 


Annunciata.  71 

who  had  come  to  disturb  their  centuries'  repose, 
and  the  Roman  senator  at  the  end  of  the  avenue 
held  his  outstretched  hand  toward  them,  as  if  warn- 
ing them  back  from  the  life  that  lay  beyond  the 
moment's  great  resolution.  And  yet,  before  the 
moon  had  faded  out  of  the  sky,  the  great  resolution 
was  irrevocably  taken.  When  they  parted  in  the 
hall,  leading  up  to  Cranbrook's  room,  Annunciata 
consented  with  the  faintest  show  of  resistance  to 
being  kissed,  and  she  even  responded,  though 
vaguely  and  doubtingly,  to  his  vehement  caresses. 
'  '  Felicissima  notte,  Signore  Giovanni,"  she  mur- 
mured, as  she  slowly  disengaged  herself  from  his 
embrace.  "  You  are  a  dear,  good  man,  and  I  will 
go  with  you  across  the  great  sea." 


SINCE  their  first  parting,  Vincent  and  Cranbrook 
had  seen  little  of  each  other.  They  had  met  oc- 
casionally in  the  Vatican  galleries,  in  the  palace  of 
the  Caesars,  and  on  the  Monte  Pincio,  and  had  then 
stopped  to  shake  hands  and  to  exchange  a  few 
friendly  inquiries,  but  Cranbrook,  for  a  reason 
which  he  strove  hard  to  embellish,  had  hitherto 
refrained  from  inviting  Harry  to  visit  him  in  his 
dwelling.  The  latter  had  of  course  noticed  this 
omission,  but  had  attributed  it  to  a  very  pardonable 
desire  on  Jack's  part  to  keep  him  in  ignorance  as 


72  Annunciata. 

to  the  real  state  of  his  finances.  "  He  is  probably 
living  in  some  cheap  hovel,"  he  thought,  "  and  he 
is  too  proud  to  wish  me  to  know  it.  But  he 
needn't  be  afraid  of  my  intruding  upon  his  privacy 
until  he  himself  opens  his  door  to  me."  Unfortu- 
nately for  both,  Harry  was  not  destined  to  carry 
out  this  amiable  intention.  A  hostile  fate  led  him 
to  encroach  upon  his  friend's  territory  when  he  was 
least  suspecting  it. 

It  was  a  sunny  day  early  in  February.  Antonio 
Caesarclli  had  saddled  an  uncommonly  hoary  and 
wise-looking  donkey,  named  Abraham,  and,  as  was 
his  wont  every  Saturday,  had  repaired  with  it  to 
the  Piazza  dei  Fiori,  where  he  sold  broccoli  and 
other  vegetables  of  the  cabbage  species.  About 
noon,  Annunciata  came  to  bring  him  his  dinner, 
and  after  having  enjoyed  for  a  while  the  sensation 
she  made  among  the  cabbage-dealers,  betook  her- 
self on  a  journey  of  exploration  through  the  city. 
Pietro's  tale  of  the  miracles  performed  at  the 
monkey  theatre  had  given  a  lively  impetus  to  her 
imagination,  and  being  unable  to  endure  any  longer 
his  irritating  airs  of  superior  knowledge,  she  had 
formed  the  daring  resolution  to  put  his  veracity  to 
the  test.  She  arrived  quite  breathless  in  the  Piazza 
dellc  Terme,  nnd  with  much  flutter  and  palpitation 
inquired  the  price  of  a  ticket.  The  door-keeper 
paused  in  his  stentorian  address  to  the  multitude 
that  was  gathered  about  him,  and  informed  her 


Anminciata.  73 

that  ten  soldi  would  admit  her  to  the  enchanted 
realm  within.  Poor  Annunciata's  countenance 
fell ;  she  pulled  her  seven  soldi  from  her  pocket, 
counted  them  three  or  four  times  deliberately  in 
her  hand,  and  cast  appealing  glances  at  the  stony- 
hearted Cerberus.  At  this  moment  she  discovered 
a  handsome  young  gentleman  who,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her  face,  was  elbowing  his  way  through 
the  crowd. 

"  Come  along,  my  pretty  lass,"  he  said,  in  doubt- 
ful Italian.  "Put  those  coppers  in  your  pocket 
and  let  me  get  your  ticket  for  you." 

Annunciata  was  well  aware  that  it  was  a  danger- 
ous thing  to  accept  favors  from  unknown  gentle- 
men, but  just  then  her  conscience  refused  to  assert 
itself.  Nevertheless,  she  summoned  courage  to 
answer,  though  in  a  voice  which  betrayed  inward 
wavering  : 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  signore  ;  I  would  rather  not." 

"  Oh,  stuff,  my  child  !  I  won't  harm  you,  and 
your  mother  need  never  know." 

He  seized  her  gently  by  the  arm  and  pointed 
toward  the  canvas  door  which  was  drawn  aside  to 
admit  another  spectator.  A  gorgeously  attired 
monkey,  riding  on  a  poodle,  became  visible  for  an 
instant  through  the  aperture.  That  was  too  much 
for  Annunciata's  conscience. 

"  But  really,  signore,  I  ought  not!  "  she  mur- 
mured, feebly. 


74  Annunciate. 

"  But  we  all  do  so  many  things  that  we  ought 
not  to  do,"  answered  he,  with  a  brusque  laugh. 
"  However,  I  'won't  bite  you  ;  you  needn't  be 
afraid  of  me." 

And  before  she  knew  it  he  had  pushed  her  in 
through  the  door,  and  she  found  herself  standing 
in  a  large  tent,  with  long  circular  rows  of  benches 
which  rose  ampitheatrically  from  the  arena  toward 
the  canvas  walls.  It  was  not  quite  to  her  taste 
that  he  conducted  her  to  a  seat  near  the  roof,  but 
she  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  remonstrate.  She  sat 
staring  rigidly  at  the  performances  of  the  poodles 
and  the  monkeys,  which  were,  no  doubt,  very  won- 
derful, but  which,  somehow,  failed  to  impress  her 
as  such,  for  she  felt  all  the  while  that  the  gentleman 
at  her  side  was  regarding  her  with  unaverted  gaze. 
The  thought  of  Signore  Giovanni  shot  through  her 
mind,  and  she  feared  she  should  never  dare  to  look 
into  his  honest  eyes  again.  Her  heart  kept  ham- 
mering against  her  side,  her  blood  burned  in  her 
checks,  and  she  felt  guilty  and  miserable.  And 
yet  she  saw,  in  a  sort  of  blind  and  unconscious 
way,  that  her  escort  was  a  very  dazzling  phenom- 
enon, and  in  external  finish  much  superior  to  her 
plain  and  unassuming  lover.  Gradually,  as  she  ac- 
customed herself  to  her  novel  situation,  she  began 
to  bestow  her  furtive  admiration  upon  the  various 
ornaments  which  he  carried  about  his  person  in 
the  shape  of  scarf-pin  and  sleeve-buttons,  and  she 


Annunciata.  75 

also  found  time  to  observe  that  his  linen  and  his 
handkerchief  .were  immaculate  and  of  exceeding 
fineness.  The  tout  ensemble  of  his  personality 
made  the  impression  of  costliness  which,  to  her  un- 
sophisticated soul,  was  synonymous  with  high  birth 
and  an  exalted  social  position. 

' '  If  only  Signore  Giovanni  would  dress  like  that," 
she  thought,  "  how  much  more  I  should  love  him  !  " 

That  was  a  very  disloyal  thought,  and  her  con- 
science immediately  smote  her.  She  arose,  thanked 
her  companion  tremulously  for  his  kindness,  and 
hastened  toward  the  door.  When  she  was  once 
more  under  the  open  sky,  she  drew  a  full  breath 
of  relief,  and  then  hurried  away  as  if  the  earth 
burned  under  her  feet.  It  was  nearly  five  o'clock 
when  she  reached  the  garden-gate  of  the  villa  ;  she 
paused  for  a  moment  to  collect  her  thoughts,  to 
arrange  her  excuses,  and  to  prepare  for  the  scold- 
ing which  she  knew  was  in  store  for  her.  She  was 
just  about  to  turn  th6  key  when,  to  her  horror,  she 
saw  her  unknown  companion  stepping  out  of  a  fia- 
cre, and  fearlessly  approaching  her. 

"  Surely,  child,  you  didn't  imagine  you  could 
run  away  from  me  in  that  style,"  he  said  smilingly. 
"  Our  acquaintance  is  not  to  come  to  such  an  un- 
timely end.  You  must  tell  me  your  name,  and,  I 
was  going  to  say,  where  you  live,  but  that  key  will 
relieve  you  from  the  latter  necessity.  But,  in  or- 
der to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  an  honest  fellow  and 


76  Annunciate. 

mean  no  harm  to  you,  here  is  my  card.  My  name 
is  Henry  Vincent,  I  am  an  American,  and — and — 
I  should  like  to  meet  you  again,  if  you  have  no 
objection." 

Annunciata  was  now  seriously  alarmed. 

"  Signore,"  she  faltered,  "  I  am  an  honest  girl, 
and  you  must  not  speak  to  me  thus." 

"  By  Jove  !  So  am  I  an  honest  fellow,  and  no 
one  need  be  ashamed  of  my  acquaintance.  If  you 
had  anything  to  fear  from  me,  do  you  suppose  I 
would  offer  you  my  card,  and  give  you  my  name  ? 
But  I  must  meet  you  again  ;  if  you  don't  give  me 
the  opportunity,  I  shall  make  my  opportunity  my- 
self, and  that  might  get  you  into  a  scrape  and  be 
unpleasant  for  both  of  us.  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

The  young  girl  stood  for  a  while  pondering. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to'  cut  short  the  interview  by 
mentioning  Cranbrook's  name  and  revealing  her 
own  relation  to  him.  She  had  an  idea  that  Cran- 
brook  was  a  sort  of  national  Character  and  that  all 
Americans  must  have  heard  of  him.  A  second 
glance  at  Vincent's  splendid  attire,  however,  turn- 
ed the  scale  in  his  favor. 

"  About  noon  next  Saturday,"  she  said,  scarcely 
audibly,  "  I  shall  be  in  the  Piazza  dei  Fiori.  My 
father  will  be  there,  too." 

With  a  swift  movement  she  tore  the  garden-gate 
open,  slammed  it  behind  her  and  ran  up  the  path 
toward  the  terrace. 


Annunciata.  77 


v. 

MARCH,  the  very  name  of  which  makes  a  New 
Englander  shiver,  is  a  glorious  month  in  Rome. 
Then  a  warmer  tone  steals  into  the  sky,  the  clouds 
become  airier  and  more  buoyant  in  color  and  out- 
line, and  the  Sabine  Mountains  display,  with  the 
varying  moods  of  the  day,  tints  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite softness  and  delicacy.  Cranbrook,  from  his 
lofty  hermitage,  had  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
observe  this  ever-changing  panorama  of  earth  and 
sky  ;  but  it  had  lost  its  charm  to  him.  The  long, 
cool  vistas  between  the  cloud-banks  no  more  lifted 
the  mind  above  itself,  pointing  the  way  into  a 
great  and  glorious  future.  A  vague  dread  was 
perpetually  haunting  him  ;  he  feared  that  Annun- 
ciata did  not  love  him  as  he  wished  to  be  loved ; 
that  she  regretted,  perhaps,  having  bound  herself 
to  him  and  was  not  unwilling,  to  break  loose  from 
him.  But  what  was  life  to  him  without  Annun- 
ciata ?  He  must  bide  his  time,  and  by  daily  kind- 
ness teach  her  to  love  him.  That  she  was  not 
happy  might  have  other  causes,  unknown  to  him. 
Her  vehement  self-accusations  and  tearful  pro- 
testations that  she  was  not  true  to  him  might  be 
merely  the  manifestations  of  a  morbidly  sensitive 
conscience. 

Vincent  in  the  meanwhile  had  changed  his  atti- 


78  Annunciata. 

tude  completely  toward  the  old  masters.  After 
his  first  meeting  with  Annunciata,  his  artistic  sense 
had  been  singularly  quickened.  He  might  be  seen 
almost  daily  wending  his  way,  with  a  red-covered 
Baedeker  under  his  arm,  to  the  gate  of  a  certain 
villa,  where  he  would  breathe  the  musty  air  of  the 
deserted  gallery  for  hours  together,  gaze  abstract- 
edly out  of  the  windows,  and  sometimes,  when  he 
was  observed,  even  make  a  pretence  of  sketching. 
Usually  it  was  Monna  Nina  or  Pietro  who  came  to 
open  the  gate  for  him  on  such  occasions,  but,  at 
rare  intervals,  it  happened  that  Annunciata  was 
sent  to  be  his  cicerone.  She  always  met  him  with 
fear  and  trembling,  but  so  irresistible  was  the 
fascination  which  he  exerted  over  her,  that  he 
seemed  to  be  able  to  change  her  mood  at  will. 
When  he  greeted  her  with  his  lazy  smile  her  heart 
gave  a  great  thump,  and  she  laughed  responsively, 
almost  in  spite  of  herself.  If  he  scowled,  which  he 
was  sometimes  pleased  to  do  when  Monna  Nina 
or  Pietro  had  taken  her  place  for  several  succes- 
sive days,  she  looked  apprehensive  and  inquired 
about  his  health.  The  costly  presents  of  jewelry 
which  he  had  given  her,  she  hid  guiltily  in  the 
most  secret  drawer  of  her  chest,  and  then  sat  up 
late  into  the  night  and  rejoiced  and  wept  over 
them. 

As  for  Vincent,   it  must  be  admitted  that  his 
own  infatuation  was  no  less  complete.     He  had  a 


Anminciata.  79 

feeling  as  if  some  new  force  had  entered  his  life 
and  filled  it  with  a  great,  though  dimly  appre- 
hended, meaning.  His'thought  had  gained  a  sweep 
and  a  width  of  wing  which  were  a  perpetual  sur- 
prise to  him.  Not  that  he  reasoned  much  about 
it ;  he  only  felt  strong  and  young  and  mightily 
aroused.  He  had  firmly  resolved  to  make  Annun- 
ciata  his  wife,  and  he  was  utterly  at  a  loss,  and 
even  secretly  irritated  at  her  reluctance  to  have 
their  relation  revealed  to  her  parents.  He  could 
brook  no  obstacle  in  his  march  of  conquest,  and 
was  constantly  chafing  at  the  necessity  of  conceal- 
ment. He  had  frequently  thought  of  anticipating 
Annunciata's  decision,  by  presenting  himself  to 
her  parents  as  a  Croesus  from  beyond  the  sea,  who 
entertained  the  laudable  intention  of  marrying 
their  fair  daughter ;  but  somehow  the  character  of 
Cophetua  was  ridiculously  melodramatic,  and  An- 
nunciata,  with  her  imperial  air,  would  have  made 
a  poor  job  of  the  beggar-maid. 

It  was  on  the  tenth  of  March,  186-,  a  memor- 
able date  in  the  lives  of  the  three  persons  concern- 
ed in  this  narrative.  Cranbrook  had  just  finished 
a  semi-aesthetic  and  semi-political  letter  to  a  trans- 
atlantic journal,  in  which  he  figured  twice  a  month 
as  "  our  own  correspondent."  It  was  already  late 
in  the  night ;  but  the  excitement  of  writing  had 
made  him  abnormally  wakeful,  and  knowing  that 
it  was  of  no  use  to  go  to  bed,  he  blew  out  his 


8o  Annunciata. 

lamp,  lit  a  cigar  and  walked  out  upon  the  loggia. 
There  was  a  warm  and  fitful  spring  wind  blowing, 
and  the  unceasing  rustling  of  the  ilex  leaves  seem- 
ed cool  and  soothing  to  his  hot  and  overwrought 
senses.  In  the  upper  strata  of  the  air,  a  stronger 
gale  was  chasing  dense  masses  and  torn  shreds  of 
cloud  with  a  fierce  speed  before  the  lunar  crescent ; 
and  the  broad  terrace  beyond  the  trees  was  alter- 
nately illuminated  and  plunged  in  gloom.  In  one 
of  these  sudden  illuminations,  Cranbrook  thought 
he  saw  a  man  leaning  against  the  marble  balus- 
trade ;  something  appeared  to  be  unwinding  itself 
slowly  from  his  arms,  and  presently  there  stood  a 
woman  at  his  side.  Then  the  moon  vanished  be- 
hind a  cloud,  and  all  was  darkness.  Cranbrook 
began  to  tremble  ;  a  strange  numbness  stole  over 
him.  He  stood  for  a  while  motionless,  then  lifted 
his  hand  to  his  forehead  ;  but  he  hardly  felt  its 
touch ;  he  only  felt  that  it  was  cold  and  wet. 
Several  minutes  passed  ;  a  damp  gust  of  wind 
swept  through  the  tree-tops  and  a  night-hawk 
screamed  somewhere  in  the  darkness.  Presently 
the  moon  sailed  out  into  the  blue  space,  and  he 
saw  again  the  two  figures  locked  in  a  close  em- 
brace. The  wind  bore  toward  him  a  dear  familiar 
voice  which  sounded  tender  and  appealing ;  his 
blood  swept  like  fire  through  his  veins.  Hardly 
knowing  what  he  did,  he  leaped  down  the  stairs 
which  led  from  the  loggia  into  the  court  rushed 


Annunciate.  81 

through  the  garden  toward  the  terrace,  grappled 
for  a  moment  with  somebody,  thrust  against  some- 
thing hard  which  suddenly  yielded,  and  then  fell 
down — down  into  a  deep  and  dark  abyss. 

When  he  awoke  he  felt  a  pair  of  cold  hands 
fumbling  with  his  shirt-collar  ;  trees  were  all  about 
him,  and  the  blue  moonlit  sky  above  him.  He 
arose,  not  without  difficulty,  and  recognized  An- 
nunciata's  face  close  to  his  ;  she  looked  frightened 
and  strove  to  avoid  his  glance. 

"The  Holy  Virgin  be  praised,  Signore  Gio- 
vanni !  "  she  whispered.  "  But  Signore  Enrico,  he 
seems  to  be  badly  hurt." 

He  suddenly  remembered  what  had  happened  ; 
but  he  could  bring  forth  no  sound  ;  he  had  a  chok- 
ing sensation  in  his  throat  and  his  lips  seemed 
numb  and  lifeless.  He  saw  Annunciata  stooping 
down  over  a  form  that  lay  outstretched  on  the 
ground,  but  the  sight  of  her  was  repulsive  to  him 
and  he  turned  away. 

"  Help  me,  Signore  Giovanni,"  she  begged  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "  He  may  be  dead  and  there  is 
no  one  to  help  him." 

Half  mechanically  he  stooped  down — gracious 
heavens  !  It  was  Vincent !  In  an  instant  all  his 
anger  and  misery  were  forgotten. 

"Hurry,  Annunciata,"  he  cried;  "run  for  a 
doctor.  Great  God !  what  have  you  done  ?  " 


82  Annunciata. 


VI. 

Six  weeks  later  two  young  Americans  were  sit- 
ting on  the  deck  of  the  Cunarder  Siberia,  which 
had  that  morning  left  the  Queenstown  harbor. 

"  Jack,"  said  the  one,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
other's  shoulder  in  a  way  that  expressed  an  untold 
amount  of  friendliness,  "  I  don't  think  it  is  good 
policy  to  keep  silence  any  longer.  I  know  I  have 
committed  my  monumental  piece  of  folly,  as  you 
prophesied,  but  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  Jack,  that 
I  didn't  know  at  the  time  what — what  I  know 
now,"  he  finished,  hurriedly. 

"  I  never  doubted  that,  Harry,"  answered  the 
other  with  a  certain  solemn  impressiveness.  "  But 
don't  let  us  talk.  I  have  not  reached  the  stage 
yet  when  I  can  mention  her  name  without  a  pang  ; 
and  I  fear — I  fear  I  never  shall." 

They  sat  for  a  long  while  smoking  in  silence  and 
gazing  pensively  toward  the  dim  coast-line  of 
Europe,  which  was  gradually  fading  away  upon 
the  eastern  horizon. 

"  Jack,"  began  Vincent  abruptly,  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  passed  through  a  severe  illness." 

"  So  you  have,  Harry,"  retorted  Cranbrook. 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  I  don't  mean  that.  That  little 
physical  suffering  was  nothing  more  than  I  deserv- 
ed. But  a  fever,  they  say,  sometimes  purifies  the 


Anminciata.  83 

blood,  and  mine,  I  think,  has  left  me  a  cleaner  and 
a  wiser  fellow  than  it  found  me." 

The  steamer  kept  ploughing  its  broad  pathway 
of  foam  through  the  billows  ;  a  huge  cloud  of  fan- 
tastic shape  loomed  up  in  the  east,  and  the  vanish- 
ing land  blended  with  and  melted  away  among  its 
fleecy  embankments. 

"Are  you  perfectly  sure,  Jack,"  said  Vincent, 
throwing  the  burning  stump  of  his  cigar  over  the 
gunwale,  "  that  the  experiences  of  the  past  year 
have  not  been  all  an  excursion  into  the  '  Arabian 
Nights  '  ?  If  it  were  not  for  that  fine  marble  relief 
in  my  trunk  which  I  bought  of  that  miserable  buf- 
foon in  the  Via  Sistina,  I  should  easily  persuade 
myself  that  the  actual  world  were  bounded  on  the 
east  by  the  Atlantic  and  on  the  west  by  the  Pa- 
cific Ocean.  I  was  just  considering  whether  I 
should  try  to  smuggle  it  through  the  custom-house, 
or  whether,  perhaps,  it  would  be  wiser  to  give 
Uncle  Sam  his  due." 

"  And  what  does  the  relief  represent  ?  "  asked 
Cranbrook,  half  indifferently. 

"  It  is  a  copy  from  an  antique  one.  Agamem- 
non robbing  Achilles  of  his " 

Cranbrook  gave  a  start,  and  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  other  end  of  the  boat.  In  half  an  hour 
he  returned,  stopped  in  front  of  Vincent,  grasped 
his  hand  warmly  and  said  : 

"  Harry,   let   us   agree   never   to   refer  to  that 


84  Annunciata. 

which  is  passed.  In  your  life  it  was  an  episode,  in 
mine  it  was  a  catastrophe." 

Since  that  day,  Annunciata's  name  has  never 
passed  their  lips. 

There  is,  however,  an  epilogue  to  this  tale  which 
cannot  well  be  left  untold.  In  the  winter  of  187-, 
ten  years  after  their  first  Italian  sojourn,  the  two 
friends  again  visited  Rome  together.  One  beauti- 
ful day  in  February,  they  found  themselves,  per- 
haps not  quite  by  accident,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  well-remembered  villa.  They  rang  the  bell 
at  the  garden  gate  and  were  admitted  by  a  robust 
young  man  who  seemed  to  be  lounging  among  the 
overgrown  hedges  in  some  official  capacity.  The 
mossy  Triton  was  still  prosecuting  his  thankless 
task  in  the  midst  of  his  marble  basin  ;  the  long 
stairs  to  the  terrace  were  yet  as  damp  and  slippery 
as  of  old,  and  the  noseless  Roman  senator  was 
still  persevering  in  his  majestic  attitude,  although 
a  sprig  of  maiden-hair  was  supporting  its  slender 
existence  in  the  recess  of  his  countenance  which 
had  once  been  occupied  by  his  stately  nose.  Vin- 
cent and  Cranbrook  both  regarded  these  familiar 
objects  with  peculiar  emotions,  but  faithful  to  their 
agreement,  they  made  no  comment.  At  last  they 
stopped  before  the  sarcophagus  —  and  verily 
Itabctta  was  still  there.  A  clean  and  chubby- 
faced  Italian  baby  with  large  black  eyes  rose  out 
of  its  marble  depth  and  hailed  them  with  simple, 


Annunciata.  85 

inarticulate  delight.  Cranbrook  gazed  long  at  the 
i  child,  then  lifted  it  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  it. 
The  young  man  who  had  opened  the  gate  for  them 
stood  by  observing  the  scene  with  a  doubtful  ex- 
pression of  suspicion  and  wonder.  As  the  stranger 
again  deposited  the  child  on  the  blanket  in  the 
bottom  of  the  sarcophagus,  he  stepped  up  before 
the  door  and  called  : 

"  Annunciata  !  " 

A  tall,  comely  matron  appeared  in  the  door — 
and  the  strangers  hastened  away.- 


UNDER  THE   GLACIER. 


i. 

IN  one  of  the  deepest  fjord-valleys  on  the  west- 
ern coast  of  Norway  there  lives,  even  to  this  day, 
a  legend  which  may  be  worth  relating.  Several 
hundred  years  ago,  a  peasant  dwelt  there  in  the 
parish  who  had  two  sons,  both  born  on  the  same 
day.  During  their  infancy  they  looked  so  much 
alike  that  even  the  father  himself  could  not  always 
tell  one  from  the  other ;  and  as  the  mother  had 
died  soon  after  their  birth,  there  was  no  one  to 
settle  the  question  of  primogeniture.  At  last  the 
father,  too,  died,  and  each  son,  feeling  sure  that  he 
was  the  elder,  laid  claim  to  the  farm.  For  well 
nigh  a  year  they  kept  wrangling  and  fighting,  each 
threatening  to  burn  the  house  over  the  other's 
head  if  he  dared  to  take  possession  of  it.  The 
matter  was  finally  adjusted  by  the  opportune  in- 
tervention of  a  neighbor  who  stood  in  high  repute 
for  wisdom.  At  his  suggestion,  they  should  each 
plant  side  by  side  a  twig  or  sprout  of  some  tree  or 
herb,  and  he  to  whose  plant  God  gave  growth 


Under  the   Glacier.  87 

should  be  the  owner  of  the  farm.  This  advice  was 
accepted  ;  for  God,  both  thought,  was  a  safer  arbi- 
ter than  man.  One  of  the  brothers,  Arne,  chose 
a  fern  (Onngrass),  and  the  other,  Ulf,  a  sweet- 
brier.  A  week  later,  they  went  with  the  wise  man 
and  two  other  neighbors  to  the  remote  pasture  at 
the  edge  of  the  glacier  where,  by  common  consent, 
they  had  made  their  appeal  to  the  judgment  of 
heaven.  Arne's  fern  stood  waving  in  dewy  fresh- 
ness in  the  morning  breeze ;  but  Ulf's  sweet-brier 
lay  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  as  if  uprooted  by 
some  hostile  hand.  The  eyes  of  the  brothers  met 
in  a  long,  ill-boding  glance. 

"  This  is  not  heaven's  judgment,"  muttered  Ulf, 
under  his  breath.  "  Methinks  I  know  the  hand 
that  has  wrought  this  dastardly  deed." 

The  umpires,  unmindful  of  the  charge,  examined 
the  uprooted  twig,  and  decided  that  some  wild 
animal  must  have  trodden  upon  it.  Accordingly 
they  awarded  the  farm  to  Arne.  Then  swifter 
than  thought  Ulf's  knife  flew  from  its  sheath  ; 
Arne  turned  pale  as  death  and  quivered  like  an 
aspen  leaf.  The  umpires  rushed  forward  to  shield 
him.  There  was  a  moment  of  breathless  suspense. 
Then  Ulf  with  a  wild  shout  hurled  his  knife  away, 
and  leaped  over  the  brink  of  the  precipice  down 
into  the  icy  gulf  below.  A  remote  hollow  rum- 
bling rose  from  the  abyss,  followed  by  a  deeper 
stillness.  The  men  peered  out  over  the  edge  of 


88  Under  the  Glacier. 

the  rock ;  the  glacier  lay  vast  and  serene,  with  its 
cold,  glittering  surface  glaring  against  the  sky, 
and  a  thousand  minute  rivulets  filled  the  air  with 
their  melodious  tinkling. 

"  God  be  his  judge  and  yours,"  said  the  men  to 
Arne,  and  hastened  away. 

From  that  day  Arne  received  the  surname  Orm- 
grass  (literally  Wormgrass,  Fern),  and  his  farm  was 
called  the  Ormgrass  farm.  And  the  name  has 
clung  to  his  descendants  until  this  day.  Some- 
how, since  the  death  of  Ulf,  the  family. had  never 
been  well  liked,  and  in  their  proud  seclusion,  up 
under  the  eternal  ice-fields,  they  sought  their 
neighbors  even  less  than  they  were  themselves 
Bought.  They  were  indeed  a  remarkably  hand- 
some race,  of  a  light  build,  with  well-knit  frames, 
and  with  a  touch  of  that  wild  grace  which  makes  a 
beast  of  prey  seem  beautiful  and  dangerous. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  Arne's 
grandson,  Gudmund  Ormgrass,  was  the  bearer  of 
the  family  name  and  the  possessor  of  the  estate. 
As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  his  two  sons,  Arne  and 
Tharald,  both  wooed  the  same  maiden, — the  fair- 
est and  proudest  maiden  in  all  the  parish.  After 
long  wavering  she  at  last  was  betrothed  to  Arne, 
as  some  thought,  because  he,  being  the  elder,  was 
the  heir  to  the  farm.  But  in  less  than  a  year, 
some  two  weeks  before  the  wedding  was  to  be, 
she  bore  a  child  ;  and  Arne  was  not  its  father. 


Under  the   Glacier.  89 

That  same  night  the  brothers  met  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
from  words  they  came  to  blows,  knives  were 
drawn,  and  after  midnight  Tharald  was  carried  up 
to  the  farm  with  a  deep  wound  in  his  shoulder  and 
quite  unconscious.  He  hovered  for  a  week  on  the 
brink  of  death  ;  then  the  wound  began  to  heal  and 
he  recovered  rapidly.  Arne  was  nowhere  to  be 
found  ;  rumor  reported  that  he  had  been  seen  the 
day  after  the  affray,  on  board  a  brig  bound  for 
Hull  with  lumber.  At  the  end  of  a  year  Tharald 
married  his  brother's  bride  and  took  possession  of 
the  farm. 


II. 

ONE  morning  in  the  early  summer  of  1868,  some 
thirty-five  years  after  the  events  just  related,  the 
fjord-valley  under  the  glacier  was  startled  by  three 
shrill  shrieks  from  the  passing  steamer,  the  usual 
signal  that  a  boat  was  wanted  to  land  some  stray 
passenger.  A  couple  of  boats  were  pushed  out 
from  the  beach,  and  half  a  dozen  men,  with  red- 
peaked  caps  and  a  certain  picturesque  nonchalance 
in  their  attire,  scrambled  into  them  and  soon  sur- 
rounded the  gangway  of  the  steamer.  First  some 
large  trunks  and  boxes  were  lowered,  showing 
that  the  passenger,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  a 
person  of  distinction, — an  impression  which  was 
still  further  confirmed  by  the  appearance  of  a  tall, 


90  Under  the  Glacier. 

dark-skinned  man,  followed  by  a  woolly-headed 
creature  of  a  truly  Satanic  complexion,  who  cre- 
ated a  profound  sensation  among  the  boatmen. 
Then  the  steamer  shrieked  once  more,  the  echoes 
began  a  prolonged  game  of  hide-and-seek  among 
the  snow-hooded  peaks,  and  the  boats  slowly- 
ploughed  their  way  over  the  luminous  mirror 
of  fjord. 

"  Is  there  any  farm  here,  where  my  servant  and 
myself  can  find  lodgings  for  the  summer  ?  "  said 
the  traveller,  turning  to  a  young  peasant  lad.  "  I 
should  prefer  to  be  as  near  to  the  glacier  as  pos- 
sible." 

He  spoke  Norwegian,  with  a  strong  foreign 
accent,  but  nevertheless  with  a  correct  and  distinct 
enunciation. 

"  My  father,  Tharald  Ormgrass,  lives  close  up 
to  the  ice-field,"  answered  the  lad.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  would  take  you,  if  you  will  put  up 
with  our  way  of  living." 

'  Will    you   accompany   me    to   your    father's 
house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  I  can  do  that."  (Ja,  jeg  kan 
iiok  dct.) 

The  lad,  without  waiting  for  further  summons, 
trotted  ahead,  and  the  traveller  with  his  black  ser- 
vant followed. 

Maurice  Fern  (for  that  was  the  stranger's  name) 
was,  as  already  hinted,  a  tall,  dark-complexioned 


Under  the   Glacier.  91 

man,  as  yet  slightly  on  the  sunny  side  of  thirty, 
with  a  straight  nose,  firm,  shapely  mouth,  which 
was  neither  sensual  nor  over-sensitive,  and  a  pair 
of  clear  dark-brown  eyes,  in  which  there  was  a 
gleam  of  fervor,  showing  that  he  was  not  altogether 
incapable  of  enthusiasm.  But  for  all  that,  the  total 
impression  of  his  personality  was  one  of  clear- 
headed decision  and  calm  energy.  He  was  a  man 
of  an  absorbing  presence,  one  whom  you  would 
have  instinctively  noticed  even  in  a  crowd.  He 
bore  himself  with  that  unconscious  grace  which 
people  are  apt  to  call  aristocratic,  being  apparently 
never  encumbered  by  any  superfluity  of  arms  and 
legs.  His  features,  whatever  their  ethnological 
value  might  be,  were,  at  all  events,  decidedly 
handsome  ;  but  if  they  were  typical  of  anything, 
they  told  unmistakably  that  their  possessor  was  a 
man  of  culture.  They  showed  none  of  that  bar- 
baric frankness  which,  like  a  manufacturer's  label, 
flaunts  in  the  face  of  all  humanity  the  history  of 
one's  origin,  race,  and  nationality.  Culture  is  hos- 
tile to  type ;  it  humanizes  the  ferocious  jaw-bones 
of  the  Celt,  blanches  the  ruddy  lustre  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  complexion,  contracts  the  abdominal  vol- 
ume of  the  Teuton,  and  subdues  the  extravagant 
angularities  of  Brother  Jonathan's  stature  and 
character.  Although  respecting  this  physiognomic 
reticence  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Fern,  we  dare  not 
leave  the  reader  in  ignorance  regarding  the  cir- 


92  Under  the  Glacier. 

cumstances  of  which  he  was  the  unconscious  re- 
sult. 

After  his  flight  from  Norway,  Arne  Ormgrass 
had  roamed  about  for  several  months  as  "  a  wan- 
derer and  a  vagabond  upon  the  earth,"  until,  finally, 
he  settled  down  in  New  Orleans,  where  he  entered 
into  partnership  with  a  thrifty  young  Swede,  and 
established  a  hotel,  known  as  the  "  Sailors'  Val- 
halla." Fortune  favored  him  :  his  reckless  daring, 
his  ready  tongue,  and,  above  all,  his  extraordinary 
beauty  soon  gained  him  an  enviable  reputation. 
Money  became  abundant,  the  hotel  was  torn  down 
and  rebuilt  with  the  usual  barbaric  display  of  mir- 
rors and  upholstery,  and  the  landlords  began  to 
aspire  for  guests  of  a  higher  degree.  Then,  one 
fine  day,  a  young  lady,  with  a  long  French  name 
and  aristocratic  antecedents,  fell  in  love  with  Arne, 
not  coolly  and  prudently,  as  northern  damsels  do, 
but  with  wildly  tragic  gesticulations  and  a  decla- 
matory ardor  that  were  superb  to  behold.  To  the 
Norseman,  however,  a  passion  of  this  degree  of 
intensity  was  too  novel  to  be  altogether  pleasing  ; 
he  felt  awed  and  bewildered, — standing,  as  he  did, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  in  the  presence  of  a 
veritable  mystery.  By  some  chance  their  clandes- 
tine meetings  were  discovered.  The  lady's  brother 
shot  at  Arne,  who  returned  the  shot  with  better 
effect  ;  then  followed  elopement — marriage — re- 
turn to  the  bosom  of  the  family,  and  a  final 


Under  the   Glacier.  93 

grand  tableau  with  parental  blessing  and  reconcili- 
ation. 

From  that  time  forth,  Arne  Fern,  as  he  was 
called  (his  Norse  name  having  simply  been  trans- 
lated into  English),  was  a  man  of  distinction. 
After  the  death  of  his  father-in-law,  in  1859,  he 
sold  his  Louisiana  property  and  emigrated  with 
his  wife  and  three  children  to  San  Francisco,  where 
by  successful  real-estate  investments  he  greatly  in- 
creased his  wealth.  His  eldest  son,  Maurice,  was, 
at  his  own  request,  sent  to  the  Eastern  States, 
where  educational  advantages  were  greater  ;  he 
entered,  in  due  time,  one  of  the  best  and  oldest 
universities,  and,  to  the  great  disappointment  of 
his  father,  contracted  a  violent  enthusiasm  for 
natural  science.  Being  convinced,  however,  that 
remonstrance  was  vain,  the  old  gentleman  gradu- 
ally learned  to  look  with  a  certain  vague  respect 
upon  his  son's  enigmatical  pursuits,  and  at  last 
surprised  the  latter  by  "  coming  down  quite  hand- 
somely "  when  funds  were  required  for  a  geological 
excursion  to  Norway. 


III. 

A  SCIENTIFIC  enthusiasm  is  one  of  the  most  un- 
comfortable things  a  human  bosom  can  harbor.  It 
may  be  the  source  of  a  good  deal  of  private  satis- 
faction to  the  devotee,  but  it  makes  him,  in  his 


94  Under  the  Glacier. 

own  estimation,  superior  to  all  the  minor  claims  of 
society.  This  was,  at  least  in  an  eminent  degree, 
the  case  with  Maurice  Fern.  He  was  not  wilfully 
regardless  of  other  people's  comfort  ;  he  seemed 
rather  to  be  unconscious  of  their  existence,  except 
in  a  dim,  general  way,  as  a  man  who  gazes  intent- 
ly at  a  strong  light  will  gradually  lose  sight  of  all 
surrounding  objects.  And  for  all  that,  he  was,  by 
nature,  a  generous  man  ;  in  his  unscientific  mo- 
ments, when  his  mind  was,  as  it  were,  off  duty,  he 
was  capable  of  very  unselfish  deeds,  and  even  of 
sublime  self-sacrifice.  It  was  only  a  few  weeks 
since  he  had  given  his  plaid  to  a  shivering  old 
woman  in  the  Scottish  stage-coach,  and  caught  a 
severe  cold  in  consequence  ;  but  he  had  bestowed 
his  charity  in  a  reserved,  matter-of-fact  way 
which  made  the  act  appear  utterly  commonplace 
and  unheroic.  He  found  it  less  troublesome  to 
shiver  than  to  be  compelled  to  see  some  one  else 
shivering,  and  his  generosity  thus  assumed  the 
appearance  of  a  deliberate  choice  between  two 
evils. 

Phenomena  of  this  degree  of  complexity  are  ex- 
tremely rare  in  Norway,  where  human  nature,  as 
everything  else,  is  of  the  large-lettered,  easily 
legible  type  ;  and  even  Tharald  Ormgrass,  who,  in 
spite  of  his  good  opinion  of  himself,  was  not  an 
acute  observer,  had  a  lively  sense  of  the  foreign- 
ness  of  the  guest  whom,  for  pecuniary  reasons,  he 


Under  the   Glacier.  95 

had  consented  to  lodge  during  the  remainder  of 
the  summer. 

A  large,  quaint,  low-ceiled  chamber  on  the 
second  floor,  with  a  superfluity  of  tiny  greenish 
window-panes,  was  assigned  to  the  stranger,  and 
his  African  servant,  Jake,  was  installed  in  a  smaller 
adjoining  apartment.  The  day  after  his  arrival 
Maurice  spent  in  unpacking  and  polishing  his 
precious  instruments,  which,  in  the  incongruous 
setting  of  rough-hewn  timbers  and  gaily  painted 
Norse  furniture,  looked  almost  fantastic.  The  maid 
who  brought  him  his  meals  (for  he  could  waste  no 
time  in  dining  with  the  family)  walked  about  on 
tip-toe,  as  if  she  were  in  a  sick-chamber,  and  oc- 
casionally stopped  to  gaze  at  him  with  mingled 
curiosity  and  awe. 

The  Ormgrass  farm  consisted  of  a  long,  bleak 
stretch  of  hill-side,  in  part  overgrown  with  sweet- 
brier  and  juniper,  and  covered  with  large,  lichen- 
painted  bowlders.  Here  and  there  was  a  patch  of 
hardy  winter  wheat,  and  at  odd  intervals  a  piece 
of  brownish  meadow.  At  the  top  of  the  slope  you 
could  see  the  huge  shining  ridge  of  the  glacier, 
looming  in  threatening  silence  against  the  sky. 
Leaning,  as  it  did,  with  a  decided  impulse  to  the 
westward,  it  was  difficult  to  resist  the  impression 
that  it  had  braced  itself  against  the  opposite  moun- 
tain, and  thrown  its  whole  enormous  weight  against 
the  Ormgrass  hills  for  the  purpose  of  forcing  a 


96  Under  the  Glacier. 

passage  down  to  the  farm.  To  Maurice,  at  least, 
this  idea  suggested  itself  with  considerable  vivid- 
ness as,  on  the  second  day  after  his  arrival,  he  had 
his  first  complete  view  of  the  glacier.  He  had  ap- 
proached it,  not  from  below,  but  from  the  western 
side,  at  the  only  point  where  ascent  was  possible. 
The  vast  expanse  of  the  ice  lay  in  cold,  ghastly 
shade  ;  for  the  sun,  which  was  barely  felt  as  a  re- 
mote presence  in  the  upper  air,  had  not  yet  reached 
the  depths  of  the  valley.  A  silence  as  of  death 
reigned  everywhere  ;  it  floated  up  from  the  dim 
blue  crevasses,  it  filled  the  air,  it  vibrated  on  the 
senses  as  with  a  vague  endeavor  to  be  heard. 
Jake,  carrying  a  barometer,  a  surveyor's  transit, 
and  a  multitude  of  smaller  instruments,  followed 
cautiously  in  his  master's  footsteps,  and  a  young 
lad,  Tharald  Ormgrass's  son,  who  had  been  en- 
gaged as  a  guide,  ran  nimbly  over  the  glazed  sur- 
face, at  every  step  thrusting  his  steel-shod  heels 
vindictively  into  the  ice.  But  it  would  be  futile  for 
one  of  the  uninitiated  to  attempt  to  follow  Maurice 
in  his  scientific  investigations  ;  on  such  occasions 
he  would  have  been  extremely  uninteresting  to 
outside  humanity,  simply  because  outside  humanity 
was  the  last  thing  he  would  have  thought  worth 
troubling  himself  about.  And  still  his  unremitting 
zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  his  aim,  and  his  cool  self- 
possession  in  the  presence  of  danger,  were  not 
without  a  sublimity  of  their  own  ;  and  the  lustrous 


Under  the   Glacier.  97 

intensity  of  his  vision  as  he  grasped  some  new  fact 
corroborative  of  some  favorite  theory,  might  well 
have  stirred  a  sympathetic  interest  even  in  a  mind 
of  unscientific  proclivities. 

An  hour  after  noon  the  three  wanderers  returned 
from  their  wintry  excursion,  Maurice  calm  and  ra- 
diant, the  ebony-faced  Jake  sore-footed  and  morose, 
and  young  Gudmund,  the  guide,  with  that  stanch 
neutrality  of  countenance  which  with  boys  passes 
for  dignity.  The  sun  was  now  well  in  sight,  and 
the  silence  of  the  glacier  was  broken.  A  thousand 
tiny  rills,  now  gathering  into  miniature  cataracts, 
now  again  scattering  through  a  net-work  of  small, 
bluish  channels,  mingled  their  melodious  voices  into 
a  hushed  symphony,  suggestive  of  fairy  bells  and 
elf-maidens  dancing  in  the  cool  dusk  of  the  arctic 
midsummer  night. 

Fern,  with  an  air  of  profound  pre-occupation, 
seated  himself  on  a  ledge  of  rock  at  the  border  of 
the  ice,  took  out  his  note-book  and  began  to  write. 

"  Jake,"  he  said,  without  looking  up,  "  be  good 
enough  to  get  us  some  dinner." 

"  We  have  nothing  except  some  bread  and 
butter,  and  some  meat  extract,"  answered  the  ser- 
vant, demurely. 

"  That  will  be  quite  sufficient.  You  will  find  my 
pocket-stove  and  a  bottle  of  alcohol  in  my  valise." 

Jake  grumblingly  obeyed  ;  he  only  approved  of 
science  in  so  far  as  it  was  reconcilable  with  sub- 
5 


98  Under  the  Glacier. 

stantial  feeding.  He  placed  the  lamp  upon  a  huge 
bowlder  (whose  black  sides  were  here  and  there 
enlivened  with  patches  of  buff  and  scarlet  lichen), 
filled  the  basin  with  water  from  the  glacier,  and 
then  lighted  the  wick.  There  was  something  ob- 
trusively incongruous  in  seeing  this  fragile  contriv- 
ance, indicating  so  many  complicated  wants,  placed 
here  among  all  the  wild  strength  of  primitive  na- 
ture ;  it  was  like  beholding  the  glacial  age  con- 
fronted with  the  nineteenth  century. 

At  this  moment  Fern  was  interrupted  in  his  sci- 
entific meditations  by  a  loud  scream  of  terror,  and 
lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw  a  picturesque  combination 
of  yellow,  black,  and  scarlet  (in  its  general  outline 
resembling  a  girl),  fleeing  with  desperate  speed  up 
the  narrow  path  along  the  glacier.  The  same 
glance  also  revealed  to  him  two  red-painted  wooden 
pails  dancing  down  over  the  jagged  bowlders,  and 
just  about  to  make  a  final  leap  down  upon  the  ice, 
when  two  determined  kicks  from  his  foot  arrested 
them.  Feeling  somewhat  solicitous  about  the  girl, 
and  unable  to  account  for  her  fright,  he  hurried  up 
the  path  ;  there  she  was  again,  still  running,  her 
yellow  hair  fluttering  wildly  about  her  head.  He 
put  his  hands  to  his  mouth  and  shouted.  The 
echoes  floated  away  over  the  desolate  ice-hills, 
growing  ever  colder  and  feebler,  like  some  abstract 
sound,  deprived  of  its  human  quality.  The  girl, 
glancing  back  over  her  shoulder,  showed  a  fair  face, 


Under  the   Glacier.  99 

convulsed  with  agitation,  paused  for  an  instant  to 
look  again,  and  then  dropped  upon  a  stone  in  a  state 
of  utter  collapse.  One  moment  more  and  he  was 
at  her  side.  She  was  lying  with  her  face  down- 
ward, her  blue  eyes  distended  with  fright,  and  her 
hands  clutching  some  tufts  of  moss  which  she  had 
unconsciously  torn  from  the  sides  of  the  stone. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  stooping  down  over 
her  (there  was  always  something  fatherly  in  his 
manner  toward  those  who  were  suffering),  "what 
is  it  that  has  frightened  you  so  ?  It  is  surely  not  I 
you  are  afraid  of  ?  " 

The  girl  moved  her  head  slightly,  and  her  lips 
parted  as  with  an  effort  to  speak  ;  but  no  sound 
came. 

Fern  seized  her  hand,  and  put  his  forefinger  on 
her  pulse. 

"  By  Jove,  child,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  you  have 
been  running  !  " 

There  was  to  him  something  very  pathetic  in  this 
silent  resignation  of  terror.  All  the  tenderness  of 
his  nature  was  stirred  ;  for,  like  many  another  un- 
demonstrative person,  he  hid  beneath  a  horny 
epidermis  of  apathy  some  deep-hued,  warm-blooded 
qualities.  * 

"  There  now,"  he  continued,  soothingly  ;  "  you 
will  feel  better  in  a  moment.  Remember  there  is 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  There  is  nobody  here  who 
will  do  you  any  harm." 


joo  Under  the  Glacier. 

The  young  girl  braced  herself  up  on  her  elbow, 
and  threw  an  anxious  glance  down  the  path. 

"  It  surely  was  the  devil,"  she  whispered,  turn- 
ing with  a  look  of  shy  appeal  toward  her  protector. 

"  The  devil  ?     Who  was  the  devil  ?  " 

"  He  was  all  black,  and  he  grinned  at  me  so  hor- 
ribly ;  "  and  she  trembled  anew  at  the  very  thought. 

"  Don't  be  a  little  goose,"  retorted  he,  laughing. 
"  It  was  a  far  less  important  personage.  It  was 
my  servant,  Jake.  And  it  was  God  who  made  him 
black,  just  for  the  sake  of  variety,  you  know.  It 
would  be  rather  monotonous  to  have  everybody  as 
white  as  you  and  me." 

She  attempted  to  smile,  feeling  that  it  was  ex- 
pected of  her  ;  but  the  result  was  hardly  propor- 
tionate to  the  effort.  Her  features  were  not  of 
that  type  which  lends  itself  easily  to  disguises.  A 
simple  maidenly  soul,  if  the  whole  infinite  variety 
of  human  masks  had  been  at  its  disposal,  would 
have  chosen  just  such  a  countenance  as  this  as  its 
complete  expression.  There  was  nothing  striking 
in  it,  unless  an  entirely  faultless  combination  of 
softly  curving  lines  and  fresh  flesh-tints  be  rare 
enough  to  merit  that  appellation ;  nor  would  any 
*>nc  but  a  cynic  have  called  it  a  commonplace  face, 
for  the  absolute  sweetness  and  purity  which  these 
simple  lines  and  tints  expressed  appealed  directly 
to  that  part  of  one's  nature  where  no  harsh  adjec- 
tives dwell.  It  was  a  feeling  of  this  kind  which 


Under  the  Glacier.  101 

suddenly  checked  Fern  in  the  scientific  meditation 
he  was  about  to  indulge,  and  spoiled  the  profound 
but  uncharitable  result  at  which  he  had  already 
half  arrived.  A  young  man  who  could  extract 
scientific  information  from  the  features  of  a  beauti- 
ful girl  could  hardly  be  called  human  ;  and  our 
hero,  with  all  his  enthusiasm  for  abstract  things, 
was  as  yet  not  exalted  above  the  laws  which  gov- 
ern his  species. 

The  girl  had,  under  his  kindly  ministry,  recov- 
ered her  breath  and  her  spirits.  .  She  had  risen, 
brushed  the  moss  and  loose  earth  from  her  dress, 
and  was  about  to  proceed  on  her  way. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said  simply,  reaching  him 
her  hand  in  Norse  fashion.  "  You  have  been  very 
good  to  me." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  shaking  her  hand 
heartily.  "  And  now,  wouldn't  you  please  tell  me 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Elsie  Tharald's  daughter  Ormgrass." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  Then  we  shall  soon  be  better  ac- 
quainted. I  am  living  at  your  father's  house." 


IV. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  Maurice's  arrival  at 
the  farm.  Elsie  was  sitting  on  the  topmost  step  of 
the  store-house  stairs,  intent  upon  some  kind  of 
coarse  knitting-work,  whose  bag- like  convexity  re- 


IO2  Under  the  Glacier. 

motely  suggested  a  stocking.  Some  straggling 
rays  of  the  late  afternoon  sun  had  got  tangled  in 
the  loose  locks  on  her  forehead,  which  shone  with 
a  golden  translucence.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
stood  her  father,  polishing  with  a  woollen  rag  the 
tarnished  silver  of  an  ancient  harness.  At  this 
moment  Fern  was  seen  entering  the  yard  at  the 
opposite  side,  and  with  his  usual  brisk  step  ap- 
proaching the  store-house.  Elsie,  looking  up  from 
her  knitting,  saw  at  once  that  there  was  something 
unusual  in  his  manner — something  which  in  another 
man  you  might  have  called  agitation,  but  which 
with  him  was  but  an  intenser  degree  of  self-com- 
mand. 

"  Good-evening,"  he  said,  as  he  stopped  in  front 
of  her  father.  "  I  have  something  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you  about." 

"Speak  on,  young  man,"  answered  Tharald, 
rubbing  away  imperturbably  at  one  of  the  blinders. 
"  Elsie  isn't  likely  to  blab,  even  if  what  you  say  is 
worth  blabbing." 

"  It  is  a  more  serious  affair  than  you  think,"  con- 
tinued Fern,  thrusting  his  peaked  staff  deep  into 
the  sod.  "  If  the  glacier  goes  on  advancing  at 
this  rate,  your  farm  is  doomed  within  a  year." 

The  old  peasant  raised  his  grizzly  head,  scratched 
with  provoking  deliberation  the  fringe  of  beard 
which  lined  his  face  like  a  frame,  and  stared  with  a 
look  of  supercilious  scorn  at  his  informant. 


Under  the  Glacier.  103 

"  If  our  fare  don't  suit  you,"  he  growled,  "  you 
needn't  stay.  We  sha'n't  try  to  keep  you." 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  myself,"  retorted  Fern, 
calmly  ;  for  he  had  by  this  time  grown  somewhat 
accustomed  to  his  host's  disagreeable  ways.  "  You 
will  no  doubt  have  observed  that  the  glacier  has, 
within  the  last  thirty  years,  sent  out  a  new  branch 
to  the  westward,  and  if  this  branch  continues  to 
progress  at  its, present  rate,  nothing  short  of  a  mir- 
acle can  save  you.  During  the  first  week  after  my 
arrival  it  advanced  fifteen  feet,  as  I  have  ascertained 
by  accurate  measurements,  and  during  the  last 
seven  days  it  has  shot  forward  nineteen  feet  more. 
If  next  winter  should  bring  a  heavy  fall  of  snow, 
the  nether  edge  may  break  off,  without  the  slight- 
est warning,  and  an  avalanche  may  sweep  down 
upon  you,  carrying  houses,  barns,  and  the  very  soil 
down  into  the  fjord.  I  sincerely  hope  that  you  will 
heed  my  words,  and  take  your  precautions  while  it 
is  yet  time.  Science  is  not  to  be  trifled  with  ;  it 
has  a  power  of  prophecy  surer  than  that  of  Ezekiel 
or  Daniel." 

"The  devil  take  both  you  and  your  science  !" 
cried  the  old  man,  now  thoroughly  aroused.  "  If 
you  hadn't  been  poking  about  up  there,  and  dig- 
ging your  sneezing-horn  in  everywhere,  the  glacier 
would  have  kept  quiet,  as  it  has  done  before,  as  far 
back  as  man's  memory  goes.  I  knew  at  once  that 
mischief  was  brewing  when  you  and  your  black 


IO4  Under  the   Glacier. 

Satan  came  here  with  your  pocket-furnaces,  .ind 
your  long-legged  gazing-tubes,  and  all  the  rest  of 
your  new-fangled  deviltry.  If  you  don't  hurry  up 
and  get  out  of  my  house  this  very  day,  I  will  whip 
you  off  the  farm  like  a  dog." 

Tharald  would  probably  have  continued  this 
pleasing  harangue  for  an  indefinite  period  (for 
excitement  acted  as  a  powerful  stimulus  to  his  im- 
agination), had  he  not  just  then  felt  .the  grasp  of  a 
hand  upon  his  arm,  and  seen  a  pair  of  blue  eyes, 
full  of  tearful  appeal,  raised  to  his.  , 

"  Get  away,  daughter,"  he  grumbled,  with  that 
shade  of  gruffhess  which  is  but  the  transition  to 
absolute  surrender.  "  I  am  not  talking  to  you." 

"  Oh,  father,"  cried  the  girl,  still  clinging  to  his 
arm,  "it  is  very  wrong  in  you  to  talk  to  him  in 
that  way.  You  know  very  well  that  he  would 
never  do  us  any  harm.  You  know  he  cannot  move 
anything  as  large  as  the  glacier." 

"  The  devil  only  knows  what  he  can't  do,"  mut- 
tered Tharald,  with  a  little  explosive  grunt,  which 
might  be  interpreted  as  a  qualified  concession. 
The  fact  was,  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  his  sense- 
less violence,  but  did  not  feel  it  to  be  consistent 
with  his  dignity  to  admit  unconditionally  that  he 
had  been  in  the  wrong. 

"These  learned  chaps  are  not  to  be  trusted, 
child,"  he  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  serious  remon- 
strance. "  It  isn't  safe  to  have  one  of  them  fellows 


Under  the   Glacier.  105 

running  about  loose.  I  heard  of  one  up  in  the 
West  Parish  last  summer,  who  was  staying  with 
Lars  Norby.  He  was  running  about  with  a  bag 
and  a  hammer,  and  poking  his  nose  into  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  the  rocks.  And  all  the  while 
he  stayed  there,  the  devil  ran  riot  on  the  farm. 
Three  cows  slinked,  the  bay  mare  followed  suit, 
and  the  chickens  took  the  cramps,  and  died  as  fast 
as  they  were  hatched.  There  was  no  luck  in  any- 
thing. I  tell  you,  my  lass,  the  Almighty  doesn't 
like  to  have  anybody  peeping  into  His  hand,  and 
telling  Him  when  to  trump  and  when  to  throw  a 
low  card.  That  is  the  long  and  short  of  it.  If 
we  don't  ship  this  fellow,  smooth-faced  and  nice  as 
he  may  be,  we  shall  have  a  run  of  bad  luck  here, 
such  as  you  never  saw  the  like  of  before." 

In  the  meanwhile,  Maurice,  not  wishing  to  over- 
hear the  conversation,  had  entered  the  house,  and 
father  and  daughter  were  left  to  continue  their  par- 
ley in  private.  There  was  really,  as  Elsie  thought, 
some  plausibility  in  the  old  man's  prognostications, 
and  the  situation  began  to  assume  a  very  puzzling 
aspect  to  her  mind.  She  admitted  that  scientists, 
viewed  as  a  genus,  were  objectionable  ;  but  in- 
sisted that  Fern,  to  whose  personal  charms  she 
was  keenly  alive,  was  an  exception  to  the  rule. 
She  felt  confident  that  so  good  a  man  as  he  could 
never  have  tried  to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  God 
Almighty.  Tharald  yielded  grumblingly,  inch  by 


io6  Under  the  Glacier. 

inch,  and  thus  saved  his  dignity,  although  his 
daughter,  in  the  end,  prevailed.  She  obtained  his 
permission  to  request  the  guest  to  remain,  and  not 
interpret  too  literally  the  rather  hasty  words  he 
had  used.  Thus  a  compromise  was  effected. 
Fern  suspended  his  packing,  and  resumed  his 
objectionable  attitude  toward  the  mysteries  of 
creation. 

About  a  week  after  this  occurrence,  Maurice 
was  walking  along  the  beach,  watching  some 
peasant  lads  who  were  spearing  trout  in  a  brook 
near  by.  The  sun  had  just  dipped  below  the 
western  mountain  peaks,  and  a  cool,  bluish  twi- 
light, which  seemed  the  essence  of  atmospheric 
purity,  purged  of  all  accessory  effects,  filled  the 
broad,  placid  valley,  and  made  it  a  luxury  to 
breathe.  The  torches-of  the  fishermen  flitted  back 
and  forth  between  the  slender  stems  of  the  birches, 
and  now  and  then  sent  up  a  great  glare  of  light 
among  the  foliage,  which  shone  with  a  ghostly 
grayish  green.  The  majestic  repose  of  this  scene 
sank  deeply  into  Fern's  mind ;  dim  yearnings 
awoke  in  him,  and  a  strange  sense  of  kinship  with 
these  mountains,  fjords,  and  glaciers  rose  from 
some  unknown  depth  of  his  soul.  He  seemed 
suddenly  to  love  them.  Whenever  he  thought  of 
Norway  in  later  years,  the  impression  of  this  night 
revived  within  him.  After  a  long  ramble  over  the 
sand,  he  chanced  upon  a  low,  turf-thatched  cot- 


Under  the   Glacier.  107 

tage,  lying  quite  apart  from  the  inhabited  districts 
of  the  valley.  The  sheen  of  the  fire  upon  the 
hearth-stone  fell  through  the  open  door  and  out 
upon  the  white  beach,  and  illuminated  faintly  the 
middle  portion  of  a  long  fishing-net,  which  was 
suspended  on  stakes,  for  drying.  Feeling  a  little 
tired,  he  seated  himself  on  a  log  near  the  door, 
and  gazed  out  upon  the  gleaming  glaciers  in  the 
distance. 

While  he  was  sitting  thus,  he  was  startled  at  the 
sound  of  a  voice,  deep,  distinct,  and  sepulchral, 
which  seemed  to  proceed  from  within  the  cottage. 

"  I  see  a  book  sealed  with  seven  seals,"  the 
voice  was  saying.  "  Two  of  them  are  already 
broken,  and  when  the  third  shall  be  broken — then 
it  is  all  black — a  great  calamity  will  happen." 

"  Pray  don't  say  that,  Gurid,"  prayed  another 
voice,  with  a  touching,  child-like  appeal  in  it  (and 
he  instantly  recognized  it  as  Elsie's).  "  God  is  so 
very  strong,  you  know,  and  He  can  certainly  wipe 
away  that  black  spot,  and  make  it  all  bright  again. 
And  I  don't  know  that  I  have  done  anything  very 
wrong  of  late  ;  and  father,  I  know,  is  really  very 
good,  too,  even  if  he  does  say  some  hard  things  at 
times.  But  he  doesn't  mean  anything  by  it — and 
I  am  sure " 

"  Be  silent,  child  !  "  interrupted  the  first  voice. 
"Thou  dost  not  understand,  and  it  is  well  for  thee 
that  thou  dost  not.  For  it  is  written,  '  He  shall 


io8  Under  the  Glacier. 

visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,  even 
unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation.' ' 

"  How  terrible  !  " 

"  Hush  !  Now  I  see  a  man — he  is  tall  and 
beautiful — has  dark  hair  and  rather  a  dark  face." 

"  Pray  don't  say  anything  more.  I  don't  want 
to  know.  Is  he  to  break  the  seals  ?  " 

"  Then  there  is  water — water — a  long,  long 
journey." 

Maurice  had  listened  to  this  conversation  with 
feelings  of  mingled  amusement  and  pity,  very 
much  as  he  would  have  listened  to  a  duet,  repre- 
senting the  usual  mixture  of  gypsy  and  misguided 
innocence,  in  an  old-fashioned  opera.  That  he 
was  playing  the  eavesdropper  had  never  entered 
his  mind.  The  scene  seemed  too  utterly  remote 
and  unreal  to  come  within  the  pale  of  moral  canons. 
But  suddenly  the  aspect  of  affairs  underwent  a 
revolution,  as  if  the  misguided  young  lady  in  the 
opera  had  turned  out  to  be  his  sister,  and  he  himself 
under  obligation  to  interfere  in  her  behalf.  For 
at  that  moment  there  came  an  intense,  hurried 
whisper,  to  which  he  would  fain  have  closed  his 
ears  : 

"  And  does  he  care  for  me  as  I  do  for  him  ?  " 

He  sprang  up,  his  cars  tingling  with  shame,  and 
hurried  down  the  beach.  Presently  it  occurred  to 
him,  however,  that  it  was  not  quite  chivalrous  in 
him  to  leave  little  Elsie  there  alone  with  the  dark- 


Under  the  Glacier.  109 

minded  sibyl.  Who  knew  but  that  she  might  need 
his  help  ?  He  paused,  and  was  about  to  retrace 
his  steps,  when  he  heard  some  one  approaching, 
whom  he  instinctively  knew  to  be  Elsie.  As  she 
came  nearer,  the  moon,  which  hung  transfixed 
upon  the  flaming  spear  of  a  glacier  peak,  revealed 
a  distressed  little  face,  through  whose  transparent 
surface  you  might  watch  the  play  of  emotions 
within,  as  one  watches  the  doings  of  tiny  insects 
and  fishes  in  an  aquarium. 

"  What  have  they  been  doing  to  my  little 
girl  ?  "  asked  Fern,  with  a  voice  full  of  paternal 
tenderness.  "  She  has  been  crying,  poor  little 
thing." 

He  may  have  been  imprudent  in  addressing  a 
girl  of  seventeen  in  this  tender  fashion  ;  but  the 
truth  was,  her  short  skirts  and  the  two  long  braids 
of  yellow  hair  were  in  his  mind  associated  with 
that  age  toward  which  you  may,  without  offence, 
assume  the  role  of  a  well-meaning  protector,  and 
where  even  a  kiss  need  not  necessarily  be  re- 
sented. So  far  from  feeling  flattered  by  the  un- 
wished-for  recollection  of  Elsie's  feeling  for  him, 
he  was  rather  disposed  to  view  it  as  a  pathological 
phenomenon, — as  a  sort  of  malady,  of  which  he 
would  like  to  cure  her.  It  is  not  to  be  denied, 
however,  that  if  this  was  his  intention,  the  course 
he  was  about  to  pursue  was  open  to  criticism. 
But  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Fern  was  no 


1 10  Under  the  Glacier. 

expert  on  questions  of  the  heart, — that  he  had  had 
no  blighting  experiences  yielding  him  an  unwhole- 
some harvest  of  premature  wisdom. 

For  a  long  while  they  walked  on  in  silence,  hold- 
ing each  other's  hands  like  two  children,  and  the 
sound  of  their  footsteps  upon  the  crisp,  crunching 
sand  was  singularly  exaggerated  by  the  great  still- 
ness around  them. 

"  And  whom  is  it  you  have  been  visiting  so  late 
in  the  night,  Elsie  ?  "  he  asked,  at  last,  glancing 
furtively  into  her  face. 

"  Hush,  you  mustn't  talk  about  her,"  answered 
she,  in  a  timid  whisper.  "  It  was  Gurid  Sibyl, 
and  she  knows  a  great  many  things  which  nobody 
else  knows  except  God." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  resort  to  such  impostors. 
You  know  the  Bible  says  it  is  wrong  to  consult 
sibyls  and  fortune-tellers." 

"  No,  I  didn't  know  it.     But  you  mustn't  speak 

111  of  her,  or  she  will  sow  disease  in  your  blood 
and  you  will  never  see  another  healthy  day.     She 
did  that  to  Nils  Saetren  because  he  mocked  her, 
and  he  has  been  a  cripple  ever  since." 

"  Pshaw,  I  am  not  afraid  of  her.  She  may 
frighten  children " 

"  Hush  !  Oh,  don't  !  "  cric.d  the  girl,  in  tones  of 
distress,  laying  her  hand  gently  over  his  mouth. 
"  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  have  anything  evil  hap- 
pen to  you." 


Under  the  Glacier.  1 1 1 

"  Well,  well,  you  foolish  child,"  he  answered, 
laughing.  <(  If  it  grieves  you,  I  will  say  nothing 
more  about  it.  But  I  must  disapprove  of  your 
superstition  all  the  same." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  don't  think  ill  of  me,"  she  begged 
piteously,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  / 

"  No,  no,  I  will  not.  Only  don't  cry.  It  always 
makes  me  feel  awkward  to  see  a  woman  cry." 

She  brushed  her  tears  away  and  put  on  a  reso- 
lute little  pout,  which  was  meant  to  be  resigned  if 
not  cheerful. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  leading  up  to  his  room.  The 
large  hpuse  was  dark  and  silent.  Everybody  was 
asleep.  Thinking  the  opportunity  favorable  for 
giving  her  a  bit  of  parting  advice,  Maurice  seized 
hold  of  both  her  arms  and  looked  her  gravely  in 
the  eyes.  She,  however,  misinterpreting  the  ges- 
ture, very  innocently  put  up  her  lips,  thinking 
that  he  intended  to  kiss  her.  The  sweet,  child-like 
trustfulness  of  the  act  touched  him  ;  hardly  know- 
ing what  he  did,  he  stooped  over  her  and  kissed 
her.  As  their  eyes  again  met,  a  deep,  radiant 
contentment  shone  from  her  countenance.  It  was 
not  a  mere  momentary  brightening  of  the  features, 
such  as  he  had  often  noticed  in  her  before,  but 
something  inexpressibly  tender,  soul-felt,  and  ab- 
solute. It  was  as  if  that  kiss  had  suddenly  trans- 
formed the  child  into  a  woman. 


H2  Under  the  Glacier. 


v. 

SUMMER  hurried  on  at  a  rapid  pace,  the  days 
grew  perceptibly  shorter,  and  the  birds  of  passage 
gathered  in  large  companies  on  the  beach  and  on 
the  hill-tops,  holding  noisy  consultations  to  pre- 
pare for  their  long  southward  journey.  Maurice 
still  stayed  on  at  the  Ormgrass  Farm,  but  a  strange, 
feverish  mood  had  come  over  him.  He  daily 
measured  the  downward  progress  of  the  glacier  in 
agitated  expectancy,  although  as  a  scientific  ex- 
periment it  had  long  ceased  to  yield  him  any  satis- 
faction. That  huge  congealed  residue  of  ten 
thousand  winters  had,  however,  acquired  a  human 
interest  to  him  which  it  had  lacked  before  ;  wh'at 
he  had  lost  as  a  scientist  he  had  gained  as  a  man. 
For,  with  all  respect  for  Science,  that  monumental 
virgin  at  whose  feet  so  many  cherished  human 
illusions  have  already  been  sacrificed,  it  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  from  an  unprofessional  point  of 
view  a  warm-blooded,  fair-faced  little  creature  like 
Elsie  is  a  worthier  object  of  a  bachelor's  homage. 
And,  strive  as  he  would,  Maurice  could  never 
quite  rid  himself  of  the  impression  that  the  glacier 
harbored  in  its  snowy  bosom  some  fell  design 
against  Elsie's  peace  and  safety.  It  is  even  possi- 
ble that  he  never  would  have  discovered  the  real 
nature  of  his  feelings  for  her  if  it  had  not  been  for 


Under  the   Glacier.  1 1 3 

this  constant  fear  that  she  might  any  moment  be 
Snatched  away  from  him. 

It  was  a  novel  experience  in  a  life  like  his,  so 
lonely  amid  its  cold,  abstract  aspirations,  to  have 
this  warm,  maidenly  spring-breath  invading  those 
chambers  of  his  soul,  hitherto  occupied  by  shiver- 
ing calculations  regarding  the  duration  and  remote- 
ness of  the  ice  age.  The  warmer  strata  of  feeling 
which  had  long  lain  slumbering  beneath  this  vast 
superstructure  of  glacial  learning  began  to  break 
their  way  to  the  light,  and  startled  him  very  much 
as  the  earth  must  have  been  startled  when  the  first 
patch  of  green  sod  broke  into  view,  steaming  under 
the  hot  rays  of  the  noonday  sun.  Abstractly  con- 
sidered, the  thing  seemed  preposterous  enough  for 
the  plot  of  a  dime  novel,  while  in  the  light  of  her 
sweet  presence  the  development  of  his  love  seemed 
as  logical  as  an  algebraic  problem.  At  all  events, 
the  result  was  in  both  cases  equally  inexorable. 
It  was  useless  to  argue  that  she  was  his  inferior  in 
culture  and  social  accomplishments ;  she  was  still 
young  and  flexible,  and  displayed  an  aptness  for 
seizing  upon  his  ideas  and  assimilating  them  which 
was  fairly  bewildering.  And  if  purity  of  soul  and 
loving  singleness  of  purpose  be  a  proof  of  noble 
blood,  she  was  surely  one  of  nature's  noble-" 
women. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer,  Fern   had  made 
several  attempts  to  convince  old  Tharald  that  the 


H4  Under  the  Glacier. 

glacier  was  actually  advancing.  He  willingly  ad- 
mitted that  there  was  a  possibility  that  it  might 
change  its  mind  and  begin  to  recede  before  any 
mischief  was  done,  but  he  held  it  to  be  very 
hazardous  to  stake  one's  life  on  so  slim  a  chance. 
The  old  man,  however,  remained  impervious  to 
argument,  although  he  no  longer  lost  his  temper 
when  the  subject  was  broached.  His  ancestors 
had  lived  there  on  the  farm  century  after  century, 
he  said,  and  the  glacier  had  done  them  no  harm. 
He  didn't  see  why  he  should  be  treated  any  worse 
by  the  Almighty  than  they  had  been  ;  he  had 
always  acted  with  tolerable  fairness  toward  every- 
body, and  had  nothing  to  blame  himself  for. 

It  was  perhaps  the  third  time  when  Tharald  had 
thus  protested  his  blamelessness,  that  his  guest, 
feeling  that  reasoning  was  unavailing,  let  drop 
some  rather  commonplace  remark  about  the  cul- 
pability of  all  men  before  God. 

Tharald  suddenly  flared  up,  and  brought  down 
his  fist  with  a  blow  on  the  table. 

"  Somebody  has  been  bearing  tales  to  you, 
young  man,"  he  cried.  "  Have  you  been  listening 
to  parish  talk  ?  " 

"  That  matters  little,"  answered  Fern,  coolly. 
"  No  one  is  so  blameless  that  he  can  claim  exemp- 
tion from  misfortune  as  his  just  desert." 

"Aha,  so  they  have  told  you  that  the  farm  is 
not  mine,"  continued  his  host,  while  his  gray  eyes 


Under  the  Glacier.  1 1 5 

glimmered  uneasily  under  his  bushy  brows.  ' '  They 
have  told  you  that  silly  nursery  tale  of  the  planting 
of  the  fern  and  the  sweet-brier,  and  of  Ulf,  who 
sought  his  death  in  the  glacier.  They  have  told 
you  that  I  stole  the  bride  of  my  brother  Arne,  and 
that  he  fled  from  me  over  the  sea, — and  you  have 
believed  it  all." 

At  the  sound  of  the  name  Arne,  a  flash  darted 
through  Maurice's  mind  ;  he  sprang  up,  stood  for 
a  moment  tottering,  and  then  fell  back  into  the 
chair.  Dim  memories  of  his  childhood  rose  up 
within  him  ;  he  remembered  how  his  father,  who 
was  otherwise  so  brave  and  frank  and  strong,  had 
recoiled  from  speaking  of  that  part  of  his  life  which 
preceded  his  coming  to  the  New  World.  And  now, 
he  grasped  with  intuitive  eagerness  at  this  straw, 
but  felt  still  a  vague  fear  of  penetrating  into  the 
secret  which  his  father  l^ad  wished  to  hide  from 
him.  He  raised  his  head  slowly,  and  saw  Tharald's 
face  contracted  into  an  angry  scowl  and  his  eyes 
staring  grimly  at  him. 

"Well,  does  the  devil  ride  you?"  he  burst 
forth,  with  his  explosive  grunt. 

Maurice  brushed  his  hand  over  his  face  as  if  to 
clear  his  vision,  and  returned  Tharald's  stare  with 
frank  fearlessness.  There  was  no  denying  that  in 
this  wrinkled,  roughly  hewn  mask  there  were  lines 
and  suggestions  which  recalled  the  free  and-  noble 
mold  of  his  father's  features.  It  was  a  coincidence 


1 1 6  Under  the  Glacier. 

• 

of  physiognomic  intentions  rather  than  actual  re- 
semblance— or  a  resemblance,  such  as  might  exist 
between  a  Vandyck  portrait  and  the  same  face 
portrayed  by  some  bungling  village  artist. 

The  old  man,  too,  was  evidently  seeing  visions  ; 
for  he  presently  began  to  wince  under  Maurice's 
steady  gaze,  and  some  troubled  memory  dwelt  in 
his  eye  as  he  rose,  and  took  to  sauntering  dis- 
tractedly about  on  the  floor. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  your  brother  Arne  fled 
over  the  sea  ?  "  asked  Maurice,  firmly. 

"  How  does  that  concern  you  ?  " 

"  It  does  concern  me,  and  I  wish  to  know." 

Tharald  paused  in  his  walk,  and  stood  long, 
measuring  his  antagonist  with  a  look  of  slow,  pon- 
dering defiance.  Then  he  tossed  his  head  back 
with  a  grim  laugh,  walked  toward  a  carved  oaken 
press  in  a  corner,  took  out  a  ponderous  Bible, -and 
flung  it  down  on  the  table. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  see  through  your  game," 
he  said  gruffly.  "  Here  is  the  family  record.  Look 
into  it  at  your  leisure.  And  if  you  are  right,  let 
me  know.  But  don't  you  tell  me  that  that  scare 
about  the  glacier  wasn't  all  humbug.  If  it  is  your 
right  of  entail  you  want  to  look  up,  I  sha'n't  stand 
in  your  way." 

Thereupon  he  stalked  out,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him  ;  the  walls  shook,  and  the  windows 
shivered  in  their  frames. 


Under  the   Glacier.  117 


VI. 

A  VAST  sheet  of  gauzy  cloud  was  slowly  spread- 
ing over  the  western  expanse  of  the  sky.  Through 
its  silvery  meshes  the  full  moon  looked  down  upon 
the  glacier  with  a  grave  unconcern.  Drifts  of  cold 
white  mist  hovered  here  and  there  over  the  surface 
of  the  ice,  rising  out  of  the  deep  blue  hollows,  catch- 
ing for  an  instant  the  moonbeams,  and  again  gliding 
away  into  the  shadow  of  some  far-looming  peak. 

On  the  little  winding  path  at  the  end  of  the 
glacier  stood  Maurice,  looking  anxiously  down  to- 
ward the  valley.  Presently  a  pale  speck  of  color 
was  seen  moving  in  the  fog,  and  on  closer  inspec- 
tion proved  to  be  that  scarlet  bodice  which  in  Nor- 
way constitutes  the  middle  portion  of  a  girl's 
figure.  A  minute  more,  and  the  bodice  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  fair,  girlish  face,  which  looked 
ravishingly  fresh  and  tangible  in  its  misty  setting. 
The  lower  portions,  partly  owing  to  their  neutral 
coloring  and  in  part  to  the  density  of  the  fog,  were 
but  vaguely  suggested. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  nearly  half  an 
hour,  down  at  the  river-brink,"  called  out  a  voice 
from  below,  and  its  clear,  mellow  ring  seemed 
suddenly  to  lighten  the  heavy  atmosphere.  "  I 
really  thought  you  had  forgotten  me." 

"  Forgotten  you  ?  "  cried  Maurice,  making  a  very 


1 1 8  Under  the  Glacier. 

unscientific  leap  down  in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 
"  When  did  I  ever  forget  you,  you  ungrateful 
thing?  " 

"  Aha!  "  responded  Elsie,  laughing,  for  of  course 
the  voice  as  well  as  the  bodice  was  hers.  "  Now, 
didn't  you  say  the  edge  of  the  glacier  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  didn't  say  the  lower  edge.  If  you 
had  at  all  been  gifted  with  the  intuition  proverbial- 
ly attributed  to  young  ladies  in  your  situation,  you 
would  have  known  that  I  meant  the  western  edge 
— in  fact  here,  and  nowhere  else." 

"  Even  though  you  didn't  say  it  ?  " 

"  Even  though  I  did  say  it." 

Fern  was  now  no  longer  a  resident  of  the  Orm- 
grass  Farm.  After  the  discovery  of  their  true  re- 
lation, Tharald  had  shown  a  sort  of  sullen,  super- 
stitious fear  of  him,  evidently  regarding  him  as  a 
providential  Nemesis  who  had  come  to  avenge  the 
wrong  he  had  done  to  his  absent  brother.  No 
amount  of  friendliness  on  Maurice's  part  could  dis- 
pel this  lurking  suspicion,  and  at  last  he  became 
convinced  that,  for  the  old  man's  sake  as  well  as 
for  his  own,  it  was  advisable  that  they  should  sep- 
arate. This  arrangement,  however,  involved  a  sac- 
rifice which  our  scientist  had  at  first  been  disposed 
to  regard  lightly  ;  but  a  week  or  two  of  purely  sci- 
entific companionship  soon  revealed  to  him  how 
large  a  factor  Elsie  had  become  in  his  life,  and  we 
have  seen  how  he  managed  to  reconcile  the  two 


Under  the   Glacier.  1 1 9 

conflicting  necessities.  The  present  rendezvous  he 
had  appointed  with  a  special  intention,  which,  with 
his  usual  directness,  he  proceeded  to  unfold  to  her. 

"  Elsie  dear,"  he  began,  drawing  her  down  on  a 
stone  at  his  side,  "  I  have  something  very  serious 
which  I  wish  to  .talk  to  you  about." 

"  And  why  do  you  always  want  to  talk  so  sol- 
emnly to  me,  Maurice?  " 

"Now  be  a  brave  little  girl,  Elsie,  and  don't  be 
frightened." 

"And  is  it,  then,  so  very  dreadful?"  she  que- 
ried, trembling  a  little  at  the  gravity  of  his  manner 
rather  than  his  words. 

"  No,  it  isn't  dreadful  at  all.  But  it  is  of  great 
importance,  and  therefore  we  must  both  be  serious. 
Now,  Elsie  dear,  tell  me  honestly  if  you  love  me 
enough  to  become  my  wife  now,  at  once." 

The  girl  cast  timid  glances  around  her,  as  if  to 
make  sure  that  they  were  unobserved.  Then  she 
laid  her  arms  round  his  neck,  gazed  for  a  moment 
with  that  trustful  look  of  hers  into  his  eyes,  and 
put  up  her  lips  to  be  kissed. 

"  That  is  no  answer,  my  dear,"  he  said,  smiling, 
but  responding  readily  to  the  invitation.  "  I  wish 
to  know  if  you  care  enough  for  me  to  go  away  with 
me  to  a  foreign  land,  and  live  with  me  always  as 
my  wife." 

"  I  cannot  live  anywhere  without  you,"  she  mur- 
mured, sadly. 


I2O  Under  the   Glacier. 

"  And  then  you  will  do  as  I  wish  ?  " 

"  But  it  will  take  three  weeks  to  have  the  banns 
published,  and  you  know  father  would  never  allow 
that." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  why  I  wish  you  to  do 
without  his  consent.  If  you  will  hoard  the  steamer 
with  me  to-morrow  night,  we  will  go  to  England, 
and  there  we  can  be  married  without  the  publish- 
ing of  banns,  and  before  any  one  can  overtake  us." 

"  But  that  would  be  very  wrong,  wouldn't  it  ?  I 
think  the  Bible  says  so,  somewhere." 

"  In  Bible  times  marriages  were  on  a  different 
basis  from  what  they  are  now.  Moreover,  love  was 
not  such  an  inexorable  thing  then,  nor  engagements 
so  pressing." 

She  looked  up  with  eyes  full  of  pathetic  remon- 
strance, and  was  sadly  puzzled. 

"  Then  you  will  come,  darling  ?  "  he  urged,  with 
lover-like  persuasiveness.  "  Say  that  you  will." 

"  I  will — try,"  she  whispered,  tearfully,  ajid  hid 
her  troubled  face  on  his  bosom. 

"  One  thing  more,"  he  went  on.  "  Your  house 
is  built  on  the  brink  of  eternity.  The  glacier  is 
moving  down  upon  you  silently  but  surely.  I  have 
warned  your  father,  but  he  will  not  believe  me.  I 
have  chosen  this  way  of  rescuing  you,  because  it  is 
the  only  way." 

The  next  evening  Maurice  and  his  servant  stood 
on  the  pier,  waiting  impatiently  for  Elsie,  until  the 


Under  the   Glacier.  121 

last  whistle  sounded,  and  the  black-hulled  boat 
moved  onward,  ploughing  its  foamy  path  through 
the  billows.  But  Elsie  did  not  come. 

Another  week  passed,  and  Maurice,  fired  with  a 
new  and  desperate  resolution,  started  for  the  cap- 
ital, and  during  the  coming  winter  the  glacier  was 
left  free  to  continue  its  baneful  plottings  undis- 
turbed by  the  importunate  eyes  of  science.  Imme- 
diately on  his  arrival  in  the  city  he  set  on  foot  a 
suit  in  his  father's  name  against  Tharald  Gudmund- 
son  Ormgrass,  to  recover  his  rightful  inheritance. 


VII. 

ON  a  cold,  bleak  day,  in  the  latter  part  of  March, 
we  find  Maurice  once  more  in  the  valley.  He  had 
played  a  hazardous  game,  but  so  far  fortune"  had 
favored  him.  In  that  supreme  self-trust  which  a 
great  and  generous  passion  inspires,  he  had  deter- 
mined to  force  Tharald  Ormgrass  to  save  himself 
and  his  children  from  the  imminent  destruction. 
The  court  had  recognized  his  right  to  the  farm  upon 
the  payment  of  five  hundred  dollars  to  its  present 
nominal  owner.  The  money  had  already  been 
paid,  and  the  farm  lay  now  desolate  and  forlorn, 
shivering  in  the  cold  gusts  from  the  glacier.  The 
family  had  just  boarded  a  large  English  brig  which 
lay  at  anchor  out  in  the  fjord,  and  was  about  to  set 
sail  for  the  new  world  beyond  the  sea.  In  the  prow 


122  Under  the  Glacier. 

of  the  vessel  stood  Tharald,  gazing  with  sullen  de- 
fiance toward  the  unknown  west,  while  Elsie,  her 
eyes  red  with  weeping,  and  her  piquant  little  face 
somewhat  pinched  with  cold,  was  clinging  close  to 
him,  and  now  and  then  glancing  back  toward  the 
dear,  deserted  homestead. 

It  had  been  a  sad  winter  for  poor  little  Elsie. 
As  the  lawsuit  had  progressed,  she  had  had  to 
hear  many  a  harsh  word  against  her  lover,  which 
seemed  all  the  harder  because  she  did  not  know 
how  to  defend  him.  His  doings,  she  admitted,  did 
seem  incomprehensible,  and  her  father  certainly 
had  some  show  of  justice  on  his  side  when  he  up- 
braided him  as  cruel,  cold,  and  ungrateful ;  but, 
with  the  sweet,  obstinate  loyalty  of  a  Norse  maid- 
en, she  still  persisted  in  believing  him  good  and 
upright  and  generous.  Some  day  it  would  all  be 
cleared  up,  she  thought,  and  then  her  triumph  and 
her  happiness  would  be  the  greater.  A  man  who 
knew  so  many  strange  things,  she  argued  in  her 
simplicity  (for  her  pride  in  his  accomplishments 
was  in  direct  proportion  to  her  own  inability  to 
comprehend  them),  could  not  possibly  be  mean 
and  selfish  as  other  men. 

The  day  had,  somehow,  a  discontented,  dubious 
look.  Now  its  sombre  veil  was  partially  lifted,  and 
something  like  the  shadow  of  a  smile  cheered  you 
by  its  promise,  if  not  by  its  presence  ;  then  a  great 
rush  of  light  from  some  unexpected  quarter  of  the 


Under  the   Glacier.  123 

heavens,  and  then  again  a  sudden  closing  of  all  the 
sunny  paths — a  dismal,  gray  monotony  everywhere. 
Now  and  then  tremendous  groans  and  long-drawn 
thunderous  rumblings  were  heard  issuing  from  the 
glaciers,  and  the  ice-choked  river,  whose  voice  sel- 
dom rose  above  an  even  baritone,  now  boomed  and 
brawled  with  the  most  capricious  interludes  of 
crashing,  grinding,  and  rushing  sounds. 

On  the  pier  down  at  the  fjord  stood  Maurice, 
dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  flannel,  and  with  a 
jaunty  sailor's  hat,  secured  with  an  elastic  cord 
under  his  chin.  He  was  gazing  with  an  air  of  pre- 
occupation up  toward  the  farm,  above  which  the 
white  edge  of  the  glacier  hung  gleaming  against 
the  dim  horizon.  Above  it  the  fog  rose  like  a 
dense  gray  wall,  hiding  the  destructive  purpose 
which  was  even  at  this  moment  laboring  within. 
Some  minutes  elapsed.  Maurice  grew  impatient, 
then  anxious.  He  pulled  his  note-book  from  his 
pocket,  examined  some  pages  covered  with  calcu- 
lations, dotted  a  neglected  i,  crossed  a  t,  and  at  last 
closed  the  book  with  a  desperate  air.  Presently 
some  dark  figure  was  seen  striding  down  the  hill- 
side, and  the  black  satellite,  Jeike,  appeared, 
streaming  with  mud  and  perspiration. 

"Well,  you  wretched  laggard,"  cried  Maurice, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  him,  "  what  answer  ?  " 

"  Nobody  answered  nothing  at  all,"  responded 
Jake,  all  out  of  breath.  "  They  be  all  gone. 


124  •  Under  the  Glacier. 

Aboard  the  ship,  out  there.  All  rigged,  ready  to 
sail." 

A  few  minutes  later  there  was  a  slight  commo- 
tion on  board  the  brig  Queen  Anne.  A  frolicsome 
tar  had  thrown  out  a  rope,  and  hauled  in  two  men, 
one  white  and  one  black.  The  crew  thronged 
about  them, 

"  English,  eh  ?  " 

"  No  ;  American." 

"  Yankees  ?  Je-ru-salem  !  Saw  your  rig  wasn't 
right,  somehow." 

General  hilarity.  Witty  tar  looks  around  with  an 
air  of  magnanimous  deprecation. 

A  strange  feeling  of  exultation  had  taken  pos- 
session of  Maurice.  The  light  and  the  air  suddenly 
seemed  glorious  to  him.  He  knew  the  world  mis- 
judged his  action  ;  but  he  felt  no  need  of  its  vin- 
dication. He  was  rather  inclined  to  chuckle  over 
its  mistake,  as  if  it  and  not  he  were  the  sufferer. 
He  walked  with  rapid  steps  toward  the  prow  of  the 
ship,  where  Tharald  and  Elsie  were  standing. 
There  was  a  look  of  invincibility  in  his  eye  which 
made  the  old  man  quail  before  him.  Elsie's  face 
suddenly  brightened,  as  if  flooded  with  light  from 
within  ;  she  made  an  impulsive  movement  toward 
him,  and  then  stood  irresolute. 

"  Elsie,"  called  out  her  father,  with  a  husky 
tremor  in  his  voice.  "  Let  him  alone,  I  tell  thee. 
He  might  leave  us  in  peace  now.  He  has  driven 


Under  the   Glacier.  125 

us  from  hearth  and  home."  Then,  with  indignant 
energy,  "  He  shall  not  touch  thee,  child.  By  the 
heavens,  he  shall  not." 

Maurice  smiled,  and  with  the  same  sense  of 
serene  benignity,  wholly  unlover-like,  clasped  her 
in  his  arms. 

A  wild  look  flashed  in  the  father  s  eyes  ;  a  hoarse 
groan  broke  from  his  chest.  Then,  with  a  swift 
rekindling  of  energy,  he  darted  forward,  and  his 
broad  hands  fell  with  a  tiger-like  grip  on  Maurice's 
shoulders.  But  hark  !  The  voices  of  the  skies  and 
the  mountains  echo  the  groan.  The  air,  surcharged 
with  terror,  whirls  in  wild  eddies,  then  holds  its 
breath  and  trembles.  All  eyes  are  turned  toward 
the  glacier.  The  huge  white  ridge,  gleaming  here 
and  there  through  a  cloud  of  smoke,  is  pushing 
down  over  the  mountain-side,  a  black  bulwark  of 
earth  rising  totteringly  before  it,  and  a  chaos  of 
bowlders  and  blocks  of  ice  following,  with  dull 
crunching  and  grinding  noises,  in  its  train.  The 
barns  and  the  store-house  of  the  Ormgrass  farm 
are  seen  slowly  climbing  the  moving  earth-wall, 
then  follows  the  mansion — rising — rising — and  with 
a  tremendous,  deafening  crash  the  whole  huge 
avalanche  sweeps  downward  into  the  fjord.  The 
water  is  lashed  into  foam ;  an  enormous  wave 
bearing  on  its  crest  the  shattered  wrecks  of  human 
homes,  rolls  onward  ;  the  good  ship  Queen  Anne 
is  tossed  skyward,  her  cable  snaps  and  springs  up- 


126  Under  the  Glacier. 

ward  against  the  mast-head,  shrieks  of  terror  fill 
the  air,  and  the  sea  flings  its  strong,  foam-wreathed 
arms  against  the  farther  shore. 

A  dead  silence  follows.  The  smoke  scatters, 
breaks  into  drifting  fragments,  showing  the  black, 
naked  mountain-side. 

The  next  morning,  as  the  first  glimmerings  of 
the  dawn  pierced  the  cloud-veil  in  the  east,  the 
brig  Queen  Anne  shot  before  a  steady  breeze  out 
toward  the  western  ocean.  In  the  prow  stood 
Maurice  Fern,  in  a  happy  reverie  ;  on  a  coil  of 
rope  at  his  feet  sat  Tharald  Ormgrass,  staring 
vacantly  before  him.  His  face  was  cold  and  hard  ; 
it  had  scarcely  stirred  from  its  dead  apathy  since 
the  hour  of  the  calamity.  Then  there  was  a  patter 
of  light  footsteps  on  the  deck,  and  Elsie,  still  with 
something  of  the  child-like  wonder  of  sleep  in  her 
eyes,  emerged  from  behind  the  broad  white  sail. 

Tharald  saw  her  and  the  hardness  died  out  of 
his  face.  He  strove  to  speak  once — twice,  but 
could  not. 

"  God  pity  me,"  he  broke  out,  with  an  emotion 
deeper  than  his  words  suggested.  "  I  was  wrong. 
I  had  no  faith  in  you.  She  has.  Take  her,  that 
the  old  wrong  may  at  last  be  righ'ted." 

And  there,  under  God's  free  sky,  their  hands 
were  joined  .together,  and  the  father  whispered  a 
blessing. 


A   KNIGHT    OF   DANNEBROG. 


VICTOR  JULIEN  ST.  DENIS  DANNEVIG  is  a  very 
aristocratic  conglomeration  of  sound,  as  every  one 
will  admit,  although  the  St.  had  a  touch  of  irony 
in  it  unless  placed  before  the  Julien,  where  in  the 
present  case  its  suggestion  was  not  wholly  unap- 
propriate.  As  he  was  when  I  first  met  him,  his 
nature  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  exquisite  half- 
tints,  in  which  the  most  antagonistic  tastes  might 
find  something  to  admire.  It  presented  no  sharp 
angles  to  wound  your  self-esteem  or  your  prejudi- 
ces. Morally,  intellectually,  and  physically,  he 
was  as  smooth  as  velvet,  and  as  agreeable  to  the 
touch.  He  never  disagreed  with  you,  whatever 
heterodox  sentiments  you  might  give  vent  to,  and 
still  no  one  could  ever  catch  him  in  any  positive 
inconsistency  or  self-contradiction.  The  extreme 
liberal  who  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  passionately  hostile  to  all 
temporal  and  spiritual  rulers,  put  him  down  as  a 
rising"  man,  who  might  be  confidently  counted  on 


128  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

when  he  should  have  shed  his  down  and  assumed 
his  permanent  colors  ;  and  the  prosperous  conser- 
vative who  had  access  to  the  private  ear  of  the 
government  lauded  his  good  sense  and  his  moderate 
opinions,  and  resolved  to  press  his  name  at  the 
first  vacancy  that  might  occur  in  the  diplomatic 
service.  In  fact,  every  one  parted  from  him  with 
the  conviction  that  at  heart  he  shared  his  senti- 
ments, even  though  for  prudential  reasons  he  did 
not  choose  to  express  himself  with  emphasis. 

The  inference,  I  am  afraid,  from  all  this,  is  that 
Dannevig  was  a  hypocrite  ;  but  if  I  have  conveyed 
that  impression  to  any  one,  I  certainly  have  done 
my  friend  injustice.  I  am  not  aware  that  he  ever 
consciously  suspended  his  convictions  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  ;  but  convictions  require  a  compara- 
tive depth  of  soil  in  order  to  thrive,  and  Danne- 
vig's  mind  was  remarkable  for  territorial  expanse 
rather  than  for  depth.  Of  course,  he  did  with 
astonishing  ease  assume  the  color  of  the  person  he 
was  talking  with  ;  but  this  involved,  with  him,  no 
conscious  mental  process,  no  deliberate  insincerity. 
It  was  rather  owing  to  a  kind  of  constitutional 
adaptability,  an  unconquerable  distaste  for  quarrel- 
ling, and  the  absence  of  any  decided  opinions  of 
his  own. 

It  was  in  the  year  186-,  just  as  peace  had  been 
concluded  between  Prussia  and  Denmark,  that  I 
made  Danncvig's  acquaintance.  He  was  then  the 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  129 

hero  of  the  day;  all  Copenhagen,  as  it  seemed, 
had  gone  mad  over  him.  He  had  just  returned 
from  the  war,  in  which  he  had  performed  some 
extraordinary  feat  of  fool-hardiness  and  saved 
seven  companies  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  mustache. 
The  story  was  then  circulating  in  a  dozen  different 
versions,  but,  as  nearly  as  I  could  learn,  he  had, 
in  the  disguise  of  a  peasant,  visited  the  Prussian 
camp  on  the  evening  preceding  a  battle  and  had 
acted  the  fool  with  such  a  perfection  of  art  as  to 
convince  the  enemy  of  his  harmlessness.  Before 
morning,  however,  he  had  furnished  the  Danish 
commander  with  important  intelligence,  thereby 
preventing  the  success  of  a  surprise  movement 
which  the  Prussians  were  about  to  execute.  In 
return  for  this  service  he  had  been  knighted  on  the 
battle-field,  the  order  of  Dannebrog  having  been 
bestowed  upon  him. 

One  circumstance  that  probably  intensified  the 
charm  which  Dannevig  exerted  upon  the  social 
circles  of  the  Danish  capital  was  the  mystery  which 
shrouded  his  origin.  There  were  vague  whisper- 
ings of  lofty  parentage,  and  even  royal  names  were 
hinted  at,  always,  of  course,  in  the  strictest  pri- 
vacy. The  fact  that  he  hailed  from  France  (though 
no  one  could  say  it  for  a  certainty)  and  still  had  a 
Danish  name  and  spoke  Danish  like  a  native,  was 
in  itself  looked  upon  as  an  interesting  anomaly. 
Then  again,  his  easy,  aristocratic  bearing  and  his 
6* 


130  A  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

finely  carved  face  suggested  all  manner  of  romantic 
possibilities  ;  his  long,  delicate  hands,  the  unobtru- 
sive perfection  of  his  toilet  and  the  very  texture 
of  his  handkerchiefs  told  plainly  enough  that  he 
had  been  familiar  with  high  life  from  the  cradle. 
His  way  of  living,  too,  was  the  subject  of  much 
curious  comment.  Without  being  really  extrava- 
gant, he  still  spent  money  in  a  free-and-easy  fash- 
ion, and  always  gave  one  the  impression  of  having 
unbounded  resources,  though  no  one  could  tell 
exactly  what  they  were.  The  only  solution  of  the 
riddle  was  that  he  might  have  access  to  the  treas- 
ury of  some  mighty  man  who,  for  reasons  which 
perhaps  would  not  bear  publicity,  felt  called  upon 
to  support  him. 

I  had  heard  his  name  abundantly  discussed  in 
academical  and  social  circles  and  was  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  hypothetical  part  of  his  history 
before  chance  led  me  to  make  his  personal  acquain- 
tance. He  had  then  already  lost  some  of  his  first 
lustre  of  novelty,  and  the  professional  yawners  at 
club  windows  were  inclining  to  the  opinion  that 
"  he  was  a  good  enough  fellow,  but  not  made  of 
stuff  that  was  apt  to  last."  But  in  the  afternoon 
tea-parties,  where  ladies  of  fashion  met  and  gently 
murdered  each  other's  reputations,  an  allusion  to 
him  was  still  the  signal  for  universal  commotion  ; 
his  very  name  would  be  greeted  with  clouds  of 
ecstatic  adjectives,  and  wild  interjections  and  en- 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  131 

thusiastic  superlatives  would  fly  buzzing  about 
your  ears  until  language  would  seem  to  be  at  its 
last  gasp,  and  for  a  week  to  come  the  positive  and 
comparative  degrees  would  be  applicable  only  to 
your  enemies. 

It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  Countess  von 
Brehm,  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  the  king- 
dom, was  madly  in  love  with  him  and  would  prob- 
ably bestow  her  hand  upon  him  in  defiance  of  the 
wishes  and  traditions  of  her  family.  And  what  man, 
outside  of  the  royal  house,  would  be  fool  enough 
to  refuse  the  hand  of  a  Countess  von  Brehm  ? 


II. 

DURING  the  winter  1865-66,  I  met  Dannevig 
frequently  at  clubs,  student  festivals,  and  social 
gatherings,  and  his  melodious  voice,  his  epigram- 
matic talk,  and  his  beauty  never  failed  to  extort 
from  me  a  certain  amount  of  reluctant  admiration. 
I  could  not  help  noticing,  however,  that  his  charm- 
ing qualities  were  all  very  much  on  the  surface, 
and  as  for  his  beauty,  it  was  of  a  purely  physical 
kind.  As  a  mere  animal  he  could  not  have  been 
finer.  His  eyes  were  as  pure  and  blue  and  irre- 
sponsible as  a  pair  of  spring  violets,  and  his  face 
was  as  clean-cut  and  perfect  as  an  ideal  Greek 
mask,  and  as  devoid  of  spiritual  meaning.  His 
animation  was  charmingly  heedless  and  genuine, 


132  A  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

but  nevertheless  was  mere  surface  glitter,  and 
never  seemed  to  be  the  expression  of  any  really 
strong  and  heartfelt  emotion.  I  could  well  imagine 
him  pouting  like  Achilles  over  the  loss  of  a  lovely 
Briseis  and  bursting  into  vituperative  language  at 
the  sight  of  the  robber  ;  but  the  very  moment 
Briseis  was  restored  his  wrath  would  as  suddenly 
have  given  way  to  the  absolute  bliss  of  posses- 
sion. 

The  evening  before  my  final  departure  from 
Copenhagen .  he  gave  a  little  party  for  me  at  his 
apartments,  at  which  a  dozen  or.  more  of  our  friends 
were  invited. 

I  must  admit  that  he  was  an  admirable  host. 
Without  appearing  at  all  to  exert  himself,  he  made 
every  one  feel  at  his  ease,  filled  up  every  gap  in 
the  conversation  with  some  droll  anecdote  or  per- 
sonal reminiscence,  and  still  contrived  to  make  us 
all  imagine  that  we  were  entertaining  instead  of 
being  entertained.  The  supper  was  a  miracle  of 
culinary  skill,  and  the  wines  had  a  most  refined 
and  aristocratic  flavor.  He  ate  and  drank  with  the 
deliberation  and  relish  of  a  man  who,  without  be- 
ing exactly  a  gourmand,  nevertheless  counted  the 
art  of  dining  among  the  fine  arts,  and  prided  him- 
self on  being  something  of  a  connoisseur.  Noth- 
ing, I  suppose,  could  have  ruined  me  more  hope- 
lessly in  his  estimation  than  if  I  had  betrayed 
unfamiliarity  with  table  etiquette, — if,  for  instance, 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  133 

I  had  poured  Rhine  wine  into  the  white  glasses,  or 
sherry  or  Madeira  into  the  blue. 

As  the  hours  of  the  night  advanced,  Dannevig's 
brilliancy  rose  to  an  almost  dangerous  height, 
which,  as  it  appeared  to  us,  could  end  in  nothing 
short  of  an  explosion.  And  the  explosion  came  at 
last  in  the  shape  of  a  speech  which  I  shall  quote  as 
nearly  as  the  long  lapse  of  years  will  permit. 

After  some  mysterious  pantomimic  play  directed 
toward  a  singularly  noiseless  and  soft-mannered 
butler,  our  host  arose,  assumed  an  attitude  as  if  he 
were  about  to  address  the  universe,  and  spoke  as 
follows  : 

"  Gentlemen  !  As  our  distinguished  friend  here 
(all  Americans,  as  you  are  aware,  are  born  sover- 
eigns and  accordingly  distinguished)  is  about  to 
leave  us,  the  spirit  moves  me  to  give  voice  to  the 
feeling  which  animates  us  all  at  this  peculiar  junc- 
ture of  events."  (Here  the  butler  returned  with  two 
bottles,  which  Dannevig  seized  and  held  up  for 
general  inspection.)  "Bravo!  here  I  hold  in  my 
hand  a  rare  and  potent  juice,  the  condensed  essence 
of  all  that  is  rich  and  fair  and  sweet  in  the  history, 
character,  and  climate  of  la  belle  France,  a  juice  for 
which  the  mouths  of  princes  have  often  watered  in 
vain — in  short  a  bottle  of  Chateau  Yquem.  I  have 
my  reasons  for  plucking  the  fairest  bloom  of  my 
cellar  on  an  occasion  like  this  :  for  what  I  am  about 
to  say  is  not  entirely  in  the  nature  of  a  compliment, 


134  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

and  the  genial  influence  of  this  royal  wine  will  be 
needed  to  counteract  the  possible  effects  of  my 
speech.  In  other  words,  I  want  the  goodness  of 
my  wine  to  compensate  for  the  rudeness  of  my  in- 
tended remarks. 

"  America  has  never  until  now  had  the  benefit 
of  my  opinion  of  her,  which  may  in  part  account 
for  the  crudeness  of  her  present  condition.  Now 
she  has  sent  a  competent  emissary  to  us,  who  will 
return  and  faithfully  report  my  sentiments,  and  if 
he  does  his  work  well,  you  may  be  prepared  for 
revolutions  beyond  the  Atlantic  in  decades  to 
come.  To  begin  with  the  beginning  :  the  Ameri- 
can continent,  extending  as  it  does  from  pole  to 
pole,  with  a  curious  attenuation  in  the  middle,  al- 
ways looked  to  me  in  my  boyhood  as  a  huge 
double  bag  flung  across  the  back  of  the  world  ;  the 
symbolic  sense  of  this  form  was  not  then  entirely 
clear  to  me  ;  but  now,  I  think,  I  divine  its  mean- 
ing. As  the  centuries  with  their  changing  civili- 
zations rolled  over  Europe,  it  became  apparent  to 
the  Almighty  that  a  spacious  lumber-room  was 
needed,  where  all  the  superfluous  odds  and  ends 
that  no  longer  fitted  to  the  changed  order  of  things 
might  be  stowed  away  for  safe-keeping.  Now,  as 
you  will  frequently  in  a  lumber-room,  amid  a  deal 
of  absolute  dross,  stumble  upon  an  object  of  rare 
and  curious  value,  so  also  in  America  you  may, 
among  heaps  of  human  trumpery,  be  startled  by 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  135 

the  sparkle  of  a  genuine  human  jewel.  Our  friend 
here,  I  need  not  add,  is  such  a  jewel,  though  cut 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  last  century,  when 
men  went  wild  over  liberty  and  other  illusory 
ideals,  and  when,  after  having  exhausted  ah1  the 
tamer  kinds  of  dissipation,  they  amused  themselves 
by  cutting  each  other's  heads  off.  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  impute  any  such  truculent  taste  to  my 
honored  guest.  I  only  wish  to  observe  that  the 
land  from  which  he  hails  has  not  yet  outlived  the 
revolutionary  heresies  of  a  century  ago,  that  his 
people  is  still  afflicted  with  those  crude  fever  fan- 
tasies, of  which  Europe  was  only  cured  by  a  severe 
and  prolonged  bleeding.  It  has  always  been  a  per- 
plexing problem  to  me,  how  a  man  who  has  seen 
the  Old  World  can  deliberately  choose  such  a  land 
as  his  permanent  abode.  I,  for  my  part,  should 
never  think  of  taking  such  a  step  until  I  had  quar- 
relled with  all  the  other  countries  of  the  world,  one 
by  one,  and  as  life  is  too  short  for  such  an  experi- 
ence, I  never  expect  to  claim  the  hospitality  of 
Brother  Jonathan  under  his  own  roof. 

"  As  regards  South  America,  I  never  could  de- 
tect its  use  in  the  cosmic  economy,  unless  it  was 
flung  down  there  in  the  southern  hemisphere  pure- 
ly as  ballast,  to  prevent  the  globe  from  upsetting. 

"  Now,  the  moral  of  these  edifying  remarks  is 
that  I  would  urge  my  guest  to  correct,  as  soon  as 
possible,  the  mistake  he  made  in  the  choice  of  his 


136  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

birthplace.  As  a  man  never  can  be  too  circum- 
spect in  the  selection  of  his  parents,  so  neither  can 
he  exercise  too  much  caution  in  the  choice  of  his 
country.  My  last  word  to  thee  is  :  '  Fold  thy 
tent,  and  pitch  it  again  where  mankind,  politics, 
and  cookery  are  in  a  more  advanced  state  of  devel- 
opment.' Friends,  let  us  drink  to  the  health  of 
our  guest,  and  wish  for  his  speedy  return." 

I  replied  with,  perhaps,  some  superfluous  ardor 
to  this  supercilious  speech,  and  a  very  hot  dis- 
cussion ensued.  When  the  company  finally  broke 
up,  Dannevig,  fearing  that  he  had  offended  me, 
laid  his  arm  confidentially  on  my  shoulder,  drew 
me  back  from  the  door,  and  pushed  me  gently  into 
an  easy-chair. 

"  Look  here  !  "  he  said,  planting  himself  in  front 
of  me.  "  It  will  never  do  for  you  and  me  to  part, 
except  as  friends.  I  did  not  mean  to  patronize 
you,  and  if  my  foolish  speech  impressed  you  in 
that  way,  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me." 

He  held  out  his  long,  beautiful  hand,  which  after 
some  hesitation  I  grasped,  and  peace  was  con- 
cluded. 

'  Take  another  cigar,"  he  continued,  throwing 
himself  down  on  a  damask-covered  lounge  oppo- 
site me.  "  I  am  in  a  confiding  mood  to-night,  and 
should  like  to  tell  you  something.  I  feel  an  abso- 
lute need  to  unbosom  myself,  and  Fate  points  to 
you  as  the  only  safe  receptacle  of  my  confidence. 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  137 

After  to-morrow,  the  Atlantic  will  be  between  us, 
and  if  my  secret  should  prove  too  explosive  for 
your  reticence,  your  indiscretion  will  do  me  no 
harm.  Listen,  then.  You  have  probably  heard 
the  town  gossip  connecting  my  name  with  that  of 
the  Countess  von  Brehm." 

I  nodded  assent. 

"Well,  my  modesty  forbids  me  to  explain  how 
far  the  rumor  is  true.  But,  the  fact  is,  she  has 
given  me  the  most  unmistakable  proofs  of  her 
favor.  Of  course,  a  man  who  has  seen  as  much  of 
the  world  as  I  have  cannot  be  expected  to  recipro- 
cate such  a  passion  in  its  sentimental  aspects  ;  but 
from  its — what  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Say,  from  a  financial  point  of  view  it  is  not 
unworthy  of  your  consideration,"  I  supplied,  un- 
able to  conceal  my  disgust. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  resumed  blandly,  "you  have 
hit  it.  However,  I  am  by  no  means  blind  to  her 
fascination.  Moreover,  the  countess  has  a  patent 
vein  of  fierceness  in  her  nature  which  in  time  may 
endear  her  to  my  heart.  Last  night,  for  instance, 

we  were  at  a  ball  at  the  Baron  P 's,  and  we 

danced  together  incessantly.  While  we  were 
whirling  about  to  the  rhythm  of  an  intoxicating 
melody,  I,  feeling  pretty  sure  of  my  game,  whis- 
pered half  playfully  in  her  car  :  '  Countess,  what 
would  you  say,  if  I  should  propose  to  you  ?  ' 
'  Propose  and  you  will  see,'  she  answered  gravely, 


138  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

while  those  big  black  eyes  of  hers  flashed  at  me 
until  I  felt  half  ashamed  of  my  flippancy.  Of 
course  I  did  not  venture  to  put  the  question  then 
and  there, 'although  I  was  sorely  tempted.  Now, 
that  shows  that  she  has  spirit,  to  say  the  least. 
What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  I  answered,  with  emphasis,  "  that  if 
I  were  a  friend  of  the  Countess  von  Brehm,  I 
should  go  to  her  to-morrow  and  implore  her  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"  By  Jove,"  he  burst  forth,  laughing  ;  "  if  / 
were  a  friend  of  the  countess,  I  should  do  the  very 
same  thing  ;  but  being  her  lover,  I  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  take  such  a  disinterested  view  of  the 
case.  Moreover,  my  labor  would  be  thrown  away  ; 
for,  e nt re  nous,  she  is  too  much  in  love  with 
me." 

I  felt  that  if  I  stayed  a  moment  longer  we  should 
inevitably  quarrel.  I  therefore  rose,  somewhat  ab- 
ruptly, and  pulled  on  my  overcoat,  averring  that  I 
was  tired  and  should  need  a  few  hours  of  sleep  be- 
fore embarking  in  the  morning. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  shaking  my  hand  heartily,  as 
we  parted  in  the  hall,  "  if  ever  you  should  happen 
to  visit  Denmark  again,  you  must  promise  me  that 
you  will  look  me  up.  You  have  a  standing  invi- 
tation to  my  future  estate." 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  139 


m. 

SOME  three  years  later  I  was  sitting  behind  my 
editorial  desk  in  a  newspaper  office  in  Chicago,  and 
the  impressions  from  my  happy  winter  in  Copen- 
hagen had  well  nigh  faded  from  memory.  The 
morning  mail  was  brought  in,  and  among  my  let- 
ters I  found  one  from  a  Danish  friend  with  whom  I 
had  kept  up  a  desultory  correspondence.  In  the 
letter  I  found  the  following  paragraph  : 

"  Since  you  left  us,  Dannevig  has  been  going  steadily  down  hill, 
until  at  last  his  order  of  Dannebrog  just  managed  to  keep  him  re- 
spectable. About  a  month  ago  he  suddenly  vanished  from  the  social 
horizon,  and  the  rumor  says  that  he  has  fled  from  his  numerous 
creditors,  and  probably  now  is  on  his  way  to  America.  His  re- 
sources, whatever  they  were,  gradually  failed  him,  while  his  habits 
remained  as  extravagant  as  ever.  If  the  popular  belief  is  to  be  cred- 
ited, he  lived  during  the  two  last  years  on  his  prospect  of  marrying 
the  Countess  von  Brehm,  which  prospect  in  Copenhagen  was  always 
convertible  into  cash.  The  countess,  by  the  way,  was  unflinching 
in  her  devotion  to  him,  and  he  would  probably  long  ago  have  led 
her  to  the  altar,  if  her  family  had  not  so  bitterly  opposed  him.  The 
old  count,  it  is  said,  swore  that  he  would  disinherit  her  if  she  ever 
mentioned  his  name  to  him  again ;  and  those  who  know  him  feel 
confident  that  he  would  have  kept  his  word.  The  countess,  how- 
ever, was  quite  willing  to  make  that  sacrifice,  for  Dannevig's  sake  ; 
but  here,  unfortunately,  that  cowardly  prudence  of  his  made  a  fool 
of  him.  He  hesitated  and  hesitated  long  enough  to  wear  out  the 
patience  of  a  dozen  women  less  elevated  and  heroic  than  she  is. 
Now  the  story  goes  that  the  old  count,  wishing  at  all  hazards  to  get 
him  out  of  the  way,  made  him  a  definite  proposition  to  pay  all  his 


140  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

debts,  and  give  htm  a  handsome  surplus  for  travelling  expenses,  if 
he  would  consent  to  vanish  from  the  kingdom  for  a  stated  term  of 
years.  And  according  to  all  appearances  Dannevig  has  been  fool 
enough  to  accept  the  offer.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  would 
hear  from  him  before  long,  in  which  case  I  trust  you  will  keep  me 
informed  of  his  movements.  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog,  you  know, 
is  too  conspicuous  a  figure  to  be  entirely  lost  beneath  the  waves  of 
your  all-levelling  democracy.  Depend  upon  it,  if  Dannevig  were 
stranded  upon  a  desert  isle,  he  would  in  some  way  contrive  to  make 
the  universe  aware  of  his  existence.  He  has,  as  you  know,  no  talent 
for  obscurity ;  there  is  a  spark  of  a  Caesar  in  him,  and  I  tremble  for 
the  fate  of  your  constitution  if  he  stays  long  enough  among  you." 


Four  months  elapsed  after  the  receipt  of  this 
letter,  and  I  had  almost  given  up  the  expectation 
(I  will  not  say  hope)  of  seeing  Dannevig,  when  one 
morning  the  door  to  my  office  was  opened,  and  a 
tall,  blonde-haired  man  entered.  With  a  certain 
reckless  grace,  which  ought  to  have  given  me  the 
clue  to  his  identity,  he  sauntered  up  to  my  desk 
and  extended  his  hand  to  me. 

"  Hallo,  old  boy  !  "  he  said,  with  a  weak,  weary 
smile.  "How  are  you  prospering?  You  don't 
seem  to  know  me." 

"  Heavens  !  "  I  cried,  "  Dannevig  !  No,  I  didn't 
know  you.  How  you  have  altered  !  " 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  flung  himself  into  a  chair 
opposite  me.  His  large,  irresponsible  eyes  fixed 
themselves  upon  mine,  with  a  half-daring,  half- 
apologetic  look,  as  if  he  were  resolved  to  put  the 
best  face  on  a  desperate  situation.  His  once  so 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  141 

ambitious  mustache  drooped  despondingly,  and  his 
unshaven  face  had  an  indescribably  withered  and 
dissipated  look.  All  the  gloss  seemed  to  have  been 
taken  off  it,  and  with  it  half  its  beauty  and  all  its 
dignity  had  departed. 

"  Dannevig,"  I  said,  with  all  the  sympathy  I  had 
at  my  command,  "what  has  happened  to  you? 
Am  I  to  take  your  word  for  it,  that  you  have  quar- 
relled with  all  the  world,  and  that  this  is  your  last 
refuge  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  evasively,  "  I  should  hard- 
ly say  that.  It  is  rather  your  detestable  demo- 
cratic cookery  which  has  undone  me.  I  haven't 
had  a  decent  meal  since  I  set  my  foot  on  this  ac- 
cursed continent.  There  is  an  all-pervading  plebe- 
ian odor  of  republicanism  about  everything  one 
eats  here,  which  is  enough  to  ruin  the  healthiest 
appetite,  and  a  certain  barbaric  uniformity  in  the 
bill  of  fare  which  would  throw  even  a  Diogenes  in- 
to despair.  May  the  devil  take  your  leathery  beef- 
steaks, as  tough  as  the  prose  of  Tacitus,  your  taste- 
less, nondescript  buckwheats,  and  your  heavy, 
melancholy  wines,  and  I  swear  it  would  be  the  last 
you  would  hear  of  him  !  " 

''There  !  that  will  do,  Dannevig  !  "  I  cried,  laugh- 
ing. "  You  have  said  more  than  enough  to  con- 
vince me  of  your  identity.  I  do  admit  I  was  scep- 
tical as  to  whether  this  could  really  be  you,  but 
you  have  dispelled  my  last  doubts.  It  was  my  in- 


142  A  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

tention  to  invite  you  to  dine  with  me  to-day,  but 
you  have  quite  discouraged  me.  I  live  quite  en 
garden,  you  know,  and  have  no  Chateau  Yquem 
nor  pheasant  &  la  Sainte  Alliance,  and  whatever 
else  your  halcyon  days  at  the  Caf6  Anglais  may 
have  accustomed  you  to." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Your  company  will  in  part 
reconcile  me  to  the  republicanism  of  your  table. 
And,  to  put  the  thing  bluntly,  can  you  lend  me 
thirty  dollars  ?  I  have  pawned  my  only  respect- 
able suit  of  clothes  for  that  amount,  and  in  my 
present  costume  I  feel  inexpressibly  plebeian,— 
very  much  as  if  I  were  my  own  butler,  and — what 
is  worse — I  treat  myself  accordingly.  I  never 
knew  until  now  how  much  of  the  inherent  dignity 
of  a  man  can  be  divested  with  his  clothing.  Then 
another  thing  :  I  am  absolutely  forced  to  do  some- 
thing, and,  judging  by  your  looks,  I  should  say  that 
journalism  was  a  profitable  business.  Now,  could 
you  not  get  me  some  appointment  or  other  in  con- 
nection with  your  paper  ?  If,  for  instance,  you 
want  a  Paris  correspondent,  then  I  am  just  your 
man.  I  know  Paris  by  heart,  and  I  have  hob- 
nobbed with  every  distinguished  man  in  France." 

"  But  we  could  hardly  afford  to  pay  you  enough 
to  justify  you  in  taking  the  journey  on  our  ac- 
count." 

"  O  sancta  simplicitas  !  No,  my  boy,  I  have  no 
such  intention.  I  can  make  up  the  whole  thing 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  143 

with  perfect  plausibility,  here  under  your  own  roof ; 
and  by  a  little  study  of  the  foreign  telegrams,  I 
would  undertake  to  convince  Thiers  and  Jules  Fa- 
vre  themselves  that  I  watched  the  play  of  their 
features  from  my  private  box  at  the  French  opera, 
night  before  last,  that  I  had  my  eye  at  the  key- 
hole while  they  performed  their  morning  ablutions, 
and  was  present  as  eavesdropper  at  their  most  se- 
cret councils.  Whatever  I  may  be,  I  hope  you 
don't  take  me  to  be  a  chicken." 

"No,"  I  answered,  beguiled  into  a  lighter  mood 
by  his  own  levity.  "  It  might  be  well  for  you  if 
you  were  more  of  one.  But  as  Paris  correspondent, 
we  could  never  engage  you,  at  least  not  on  the 
terms  you  propose.  But  even  if  I  should  succeed 
in  getting  a  place  for  you,  do  you  know  English 
enough  to  write  with  ease?  " 

"  I  see  you  are  disposed  to  give  vent  to  your  na- 
tive scepticism  toward  me.  But  I  never  knew  the 
thing  yet  that  I  could  not  do.  At  first,  perhaps, 
I  should  have  to  depend  somewhat  upon  your 
proof-reading,  but  before  many  months,  I  venture 
to  say,  I  could  stand  on  my  own  legs.'" 

After  some  further  parley  it  was  agreed  that  I 
should  exert  myself  in  his  behalf,  and  after  a  visit 
to  the  pawnbroker's,  where  Dannevig  had  depos- 
ited his  dignity,  we  parted  with  the  promise  to  meet 
again  at  dinner. 


144  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 


IV. 

IT  was  rather  an  anomalous  position  fora  knight 
of  Dannebrog,  a  familiar  friend  of  princes  and  no- 
bles, and  an  ex-habituS  of  the  Cafe"  Anglais,  to  be 
a  common  reporter  on  a  Chicago  republican  jour- 
nal. Yet  this  was  the  position  to  which  (after  some 
daring  exploits  in  book-reviewing  and  art-criticism) 
my  friend  was  finally  reduced.  As  an  art-critic,  he 
might  have  been  a  success,  if  western  art  had  been 
more  nearly  in  accord  with  his  own  fastidious  and 
exquisitely  developed  taste.  As  it  was,  he  man- 
aged in  less  than  a  fortnight  to  'bring  down  the 
wrath  of  the  whole  artistic  brotherhood  upon  our 
journal,  and  as  some  of  these  men  were  personal 
friends  of  the  principal  stockholders  in  the  paper, 
his  destructive  ardor  was  checked  by  an  imperative 
order  from  the  authorities,  from  whose  will  there  is 
no  appeal.  As  a  book-reviewer  he  labored  under 
similar  disadvantages  ;  he  stoutly  maintained  that 
the  reading  of  a  volume  would  necessarily  and  un- 
duly bias  the  critic's  judgment,  and  that  a  man  en- 
dowed with  a  keen,  literary  nose  could  form  an 
intelligent  opinion,  after  a  careful  perusal  of  the 
title-page,  and  a  glance  at  the  preface.  A  man 
who  wrote  a  book  naturally  labored  under  the  de- 
lusion that  he  was  wiser  or  better  than  the  majority 
of  his  fellow-creatures,  in  which  case  you  would  do 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  145 

him  a  moral  service  by  convincing  him  of  his  error. 
If  humanity  continued  to  encourage  authorship  at 
the  present  rate,  obscurity  would  soon  become  a 
claim  to  immortality.  If  a  writer  informed  you 
that  his  work  "  filled  a  literary  void,"  his  conceit 
was  reprehensible,  and  on  moral  grounds  he  ought 
to  be  chastised  ;  if  he  told  you  that  he  had  only 
"  yielded  to  the  urgent  request  of  his  friends,"  it 
was  only  fair  to  insinuate  that  his  friends  must  have 
had  very  long  ears.  Nevertheless,  Dannevig's  re- 
views were  for  about  a  month  a  very  successful 
feature  of  our  paper.  They  might  be  described  as 
racy  little  essays,  bristling  with  point  and  epigram, 
on  some  subject  suggested  by  the  title-pages  of 
current  volumes.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  however, 
books  began  to  grow  scarce  in  our  office,  and  before 
another  month  was  at  an  end,  we  had  no  more  need 
of  a  reviewer.  My  friend  was  then  to  have  his  last 
trial  as  a  reporter. 

One  of  his  first  experiences  in  this  new  capacity 
was  at  a  mass-meeting  preceding  an  important  mu- 
nicipal election.  Not  daring  to  send  his  "  copy" 
to  the  printer  without  revision,  I  determined  to 
sacrifice  two  or  three  hours'  sleep,  and  to  await  his 
return.  But  the  night  wore  on,  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  one,  and  two,  and  no  Dannevig  appeared. 
I  began  to  grow  anxious ;  our  last  form  went  to 
press  at  four  o'clock,  and  I  had  left  a  column  and  a 
half  open  for  his  expected  report.  Not  wishing  to 


146  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

resort  to  dead  matter,  I  hastily  made  some  selec- 
tions from  a  fresh  magazine,  and  sent  them  to  the 
foreman. 

The  next  day,  about  noon,  a  policeman  brought 
me  the  following  note,  written  in  pencil,  on  a  leaf 
torn  from  a  pocket-book. 

DEAR  FRIEND: 

I  made  a  speech  last  night  (and  a  very  good  one  too)  in  behalf 
of  oppressed  humanity,  but  its  effect  upon  my  audience  was,  to  say 
the  least,  singular.  Its  results,  as  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned, 
were  also  somewhat  unpleasant.  Looking  at  myself  in  my  pocket- 
glass  this  morning,  I  find  that  my  nose  has  become  disproportion- 
ately prominent,  besides  showing  an  abnormal  lateral  development. 
If  you  would  have  the  goodness  to  accompany  the  obliging  gentle- 
man, who  is  the  bearer  of  this,  to  my  temporary  lodgings,  I  will 
further  explain  the  situation  to  you.  By  the  way,  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  you.  should  come. 

Yours  in  haste, 

VICTOR  J.  ST.  D.  DANNEVIG, 

R.  D.  O.* 

I  found  Dannevig,  as  I  had  expected,  at  the  so- 
called  Armory  (the  city  prison),  in  pleasant  con- 
verse with  half-a-dozen  policemen,  to  whom  he 
was  describing,  with  inimitable  grace  and  good- 
humor,  his  adventures  of  the  preceding  night.  He 
was  too  absorbed  in  his  narrative  to  notice  my  ar- 
rival, and  I  did  not  choose  to  interrupt  him. 

"  You  can  imagine,  gentlemen,"  he  was  saying, 
accompanying  his  words  with  the  liveliest  gesticu- 

*  Knight  of  the  Order  of  Dannebrog. 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  147 

lations,  "  how  the  rude  contact  of  a  plebeian  fist 
with  my  tender  skin  must  have  impressed  me. 
Really,  gentlemen,  I  was  so  surprised  that  I  liter- 
ally lost  my  balance.  I  was,  as  you  are  no  doubt 
aware,  merely  asserting  my  rights  as  a  free  citizen 
to  protest  against  the  presumptions  of  the  unprin- 
cipled oligarchy  which  is  at  present  ruling  this  fair 
city.  My  case  is  exactly  parallel  to  that  of  Caius 
Gracchus,  who,  I  admit,  reaped  a  similar  reward." 

"  But  you  were  drunk,"  replied  a  rude  voice 
from  his  audience.  "  Dead  drunk." 

"  Drunk,"  ejaculated  Dannevig,  with  a  gesture 
of  dignified  deprecation.  "Now,  I  submit  it  to 
you  as  gentlemen  of  taste  and  experience  :  how 
would  you  define  that  state  of  mind  and  body  vul- 
garly styled  '  drunk  ?  '  I  was  merely  pleasantly 
animated,  as  far  as  such  a  condition  can  be  induced 
by  those  vulgar  liquids  which  you  are  in  the  habit 
of  imbibing  in  this  benighted  country.  Now,  if  I 
had  had  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance  in  the 
days  of  my  prosperity,  it  would  have  given  me 
great  pleasure  to  raise  your  standard  of  taste  re- 
garding wines  and  alcoholic  liquors.  The  mixed 
drinks,  which  are  held  in  such  high  esteem  in  this 
community,  are,  in  my  opinion,  utterly  demoraliz- 
ing." 

Thinking  it  was  high  time  to  interrupt  this  dis- 
course, I  stepped  up  to  the  orator,  and  laid  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 


148  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

"  Dannevig,"  1  said,  "  I  have  no  time  to  waste. 
Let  me  settle  this  business  for  you  at  once." 

"  In  a  moment  I  shall  be  at  your  service,"  he 
answered,  gracefully  waving  his  hand  ;  and  for 
some  five  minutes  more  he  continued  his  harangue 
on  the  corrupting  effects  of  mixed  drinks. 

After  a  visit  to  the  court-room,  a  brief  exami- 
nation, and  the  payment  of  a  fine,  we  took  our 
departure.  Feeling  in  an  exceptionally  amiable 
mood,  Dannevig  offered  me  his  arm,  and  as  we 
again  passed  the  group  of  policemen  at  the  door, 
he  politely  raised  his  dilapidated  hat  to  them,  and 
bade  them  a  pleasant  good-morning.  The  cross 
of  Dannebrog,  with  its  red  ribbon,  was  dangling 
from  the  button-hole  of  his  coat,  the  front  of  which 
was  literally  glazed  with  the  stains  of  dried  punch. 

"  My  type  of  countenance,  as  you  will  observe," 
he  remarked,  as  we  hailed  a  passing  omnibus, 
"  presents  some  striking  deviations  from  the  clas- 
sic ideal  ;  but  it  is  a  consoling  reflection  that  it 
will  probably  soon  resume  its  normal  form." 

Of  course,  all  the  morning  as  well  as  the  evening 
papers,  recounted,  with  flaming  headings,  Danne- 
vig's  oration,  and  his  ignominious  expulsion  from 
the  mass- meeting,  and  the  most  unsparing  ridicule 
was  showered  both  upon  him  and  the  journal 
which,  for  the  time,  he  represented.  One  more 
experience  of  a  similar  nature  terminated  his  ca- 
reer as  a  journalist  ;  I  dared  no  longer  espouse 


A  Kniglit  of  Dauucbrog.  149 

his  cause,  and  he  was  dismissed  in  disgrace..  For 
some  weeks  he  vanished  from  my  horizon,  and  I 
began  to  hope  that  he  had  again  set  his  face  to- 
ward the  Old  World,  where  talents  of  the  order  he 
possessed  are  at  higher  premium  in  the  social 
market.  But  in  this  hope  I  was  to  be  grievously 
disappointed. 

V. 

ONE  day,  just  as  I  had  ordered  my  lunch  at  a 
restaurant  much  frequented  by  journalists,  a  Ger- 
man, named  Pfeifer,  one  of  the  largest  stockholders 
in  our  paper,  entered  and  seated  himself  at  the 
table  opposite  me.  He  was  a  somewhat  puffy  and 
voluminous  man  with  a  very  round  bald  head,  and 
an  air  of  defiant  prosperity  about  him.  He  had 
retired  from  the  brewery  business  some  years  ago, 
with  a  very  handsome  fortune. 

"I  have  been  hunting  for  you  high  and  low," 
he  began  in  his  native  tongue.  "  You  know  there 
is  to  be  a  ball  in  the  Turnverein  to-morrow  night, 
— a  very  grand  affair,  they  say.  I  suppose  they 
have  sent  you  tickets." 

"  Yes,  two." 

"  And  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  had  half  made  up  my  mind  to  send  Fenner 
or  some  one  else." 

Mr.  Pfeifer  here  grew  superfluously  confidential 
and  related  to  me  in  a  mysterious  whisper  his  ob- 


1 50  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

ject  in  seeking  me.  The  fact  was,  he  had  a  niece, 
really  ein  allcrliebstes  Kind,  who  had  come  from 
Milwaukee  to  visit  him  and  was  to  spend  the  win- 
ter with  him.  Now,  to  be  honest,  he  knew  very 
few  young  gentlemen  whom  he  would  be  willing 
to  have  her  associate  with,  and  the  poor  child  had 
set  her  heart  on  going  to  the  Turn-\>3\\  to-morrow. 
Would  I  kindly  overlook  the  informality  of  his 
request,  and  without  telling  the  young  lady  of  his 
share  in  the  proceeding,  offer  her  my  escort  to  the 
ball?  Would  I  be  responsible  for  her  and  bring 
her  home  in  good  season  ?  And  to  avert  Fraulein 
Pfeifer's  possible  suspicions,  would  I  come  and 
dine  at  his  house  to-night  and  make  her  acquaint- 
ance ? 

To  refuse  the  acquaintance  of  a  young  lady  who 
even  remotely  answered  to  the  description  of  "  a 
very  lovely  child,"  was  contrary  to  my  principles, 
and  I  need  not  add  that  I  proved  faithful  to  them 
in  the  present  instance. 

A  German,  even  if  he  be  not  what  one  would 
call  a  cultivated  man,  has  nevertheless  a  certain 
sombre  historic  background  to  his  life  which  makes 
him  averse  to  those  garish  effects  of  barbaric 
splendor  that  impress  one  so  unpleasantly  in  the 
houses  of  Americans  whose  prosperity  is  unsup- 
ported by  a  corresponding  amount  of  culture. 
This  was  my  first  reflection  on  entering  Mr.  Pfei- 
fer's drawing-room,  while  in  my  heart  I  begged  the 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  151 

proprietor's  pardon  for  the  patronizing  attitude  I 
found  myself  assuming  toward  him.  The  heavy, 
solid  furniture,  the  grave  and  decorously  mediocre 
pictures,  and  the  very  tint  of  the  walls  wore  an  air 
of  substantial,  though  somewhat  lugubrious  com- 
fort. His  niece,  too,  although  her  form  was  by  no 
means  lacking  in  grace,  seemed  somehow  to  par- 
take of  this  all-pervading  air  of  Teutonic  solidity 
and  homelike  comfort.  She  was  one  of  those  wo- 
men who  seemed  born  to  make  some  wretched 
man  undeservedly  happy.  (I  always  feel  a  certain 
dim  hostility  to  any  man,  even  though  I  may  not 
know  him,  who  marries  a  charming  and  lovable 
woman  ;  it  is  with  me  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
he  has  been  blessed  beyond  his  deserts.)  There 
was  a  sweet  matronliness  and  quiet  dignity  in  her 
manner,  and  beneath  the  placid  surface  of  her 
blue  eyes  I  suspected  hidden  depths  of  pure  maid- 
enly sentiment.  The  cast  of  her  countenance  was 
distinctly  Germanic  ;  not  strikingly  beautiful,  per- 
haps, but  extremely  pleasing  ;  there  was  no  dis- 
cordant feature  in  it,  no  loud  or  harsh  suggestion 
to  mar  the  subdued  richness  of  the  whole  picture. 
Her  blond  hair  was  twisted  into  a  massive  coil  on 
the  top  of  her  head,  and  the  unobtrusive  simplicity 
and  taste  of  her  toilet  were  merely  her  character 
(as  I  had  conceived  it)  translated  into  millinery. 
My  feelings,  as  I  stood  gazing  at  her,  unconscious- 
ly formulated  themselves  into  the  well-known  bene- 


152  A  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

diction  of  Heine's,  which  I  could  with  difficulty 
keep  from  quoting : 

"  Mir  ist  als  ob  ich  die  Hande, 
AuPs  Haupt  dir  legen  sollt', 
Betend  dass  Gott  dich  erhalte, 
So  rein  und  schon  und  hold." 

I  observed  with  quiet  amusement,  though  in  a 
very  sympathetic  spirit,  that  she  did  not  manage 
her  train  well ;  and  from  the  furtive  attention  she 
was  ever  bestowing  upon  it,  I  concluded  that  her 
experience  with  long  dresses  must  have  been  of 
recent  date.  I  noticed,  too,  as  she  came  forward 
to  salute  me,  that  her  hands  were  not  unused  to 
toil  ;  but  for  this  I  only  honored  her  the  more. 

The  dinner  was  as  serious  and  substantial  as 
everything  else  in  Mr.  Pfeifer's  house,  and  passed 
off  without  any  notable  incident.  The  host  per- 
sisted in  talking  business  with  me,  which  the  young 
lady,  at  whose  side  I  sat,  accepted  as  a  matter-of- 
course,  making  apparently  no  claim  whatever  upon 
the  smallest  share  of  my  attention.  When  the  long 
and  tedious  meal  was  at  an  end,  upon  her  uncle's 
suggestion,  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and 
sang  in  a  deep,  powerful  contralto,  Schubert's 
magnificent  arrangement  of  Heine's  song  of  unre- 
quited love  : 

"  Ich  grolle  nicht,  und  wenn  das  Herz  auch  bricht, 
Ewig  vcrlornes  I.ieb  !  ich  grolle  nicht. 
Wie  du  auch  strahlst  in  Diamantenpracht, 
Ea  fallt  kciu  Struhl  in  deines  Herzens  Nacht." 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  153 

There  was  a  pathos  and  passion  in  her  voice 
which  fairly  startled  me,  and  when  I  hastened  to 
her  side  to  thank  her  for  the  pleasure  she  had 
given  me,  she  accepted  my  compliments  with  a 
beautiful,  unaffected  enthusiasm,  as  if  they  were 
meant  only  for  the  composer,  and  were  in  no  re- 
spect due  to  her. 

"  There  is  such  a  depth  of  suffering  in  every 
word  and  note,"  she  said  with  glowing  cheeks. 
"  He  bears  her  no  ill-will,  he  says,  and  still  you 
feel  how  the  suppressed  bitterness  is  still  rankling 
within  him." 

She  then  sang  "  Auf  Fliigeln  des  Gesanges," 
whereupon  we  sat  down  and  talked  music  and 
Heine  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Mr.  Pfeifer, 
reclining  in  his  capacious  easy-chair,  smoked  on 
with  slow,  brooding  contentment,  and  now  and 
then  threw  in  a  disparaging  remark  regarding  our 
favorite  poet. 

"  He  blackguarded  his  country  abominably,"  he 
said.  "  And  I  have  no  respect  for  a  man  who  can 
do  that.  Besides,  he  was  a  miserable,  renegade 
Jew,  and  as  I  never  like  to  have  any  more  to  do 
with  Jews  than  I  can  possibly  help,  I  have  never 
read  any  of  his  books." 

"  But,  uncle,"  retorted  his  niece,  warmly,  "  he 

certainly  could  not  help  being  a  Jew.     And  there 

was  no  one  who  loved  Germany  more  ardently  than 

he,  even  though  he  did  say  severe  things  about  it." 

7* 


154  ^  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

"  That  is  a  thing  about  which  you  can  have  no 
opinion,  Hildegard,"  said  Pfeifer,  with  paternal 
decision  ;  and  he  blew  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke  to- 
ward the  ceiling. 

Miss  Hildegard  looked  rebellious  for  an  instant, 
but  accepted  the  verdict  of  superior  wisdom  with 
submissive  silence.  The  old  man  gave  me  a  little 
confidential  wink  as  if  to  say  : 

"There  is  a  model  girl  for  you.  She  knows 
that  women  should  not  speak  in  meeting." 

"  What  a  delightfully  fresh  and  unspoiled  girl," 
I  reflected,  as  I  wended  my  way  homeward 
through  the  still  moonlight;  "so  true-hearted, 
and  genuine,  and  unaffected.  And  still  beneath 
all  that  sweet,  womanly  tranquillity  there  are 
strong  slumbering  forces,  which  some  day  will 
startle  some  phlegmatic  countryman  of  hers,  who 
takes  her  to  be  as  submissive  as  she  looks." 


VI. 

SOME  fifteen  minutes  after  the  appointed  hour  I 
called  with  a  carriage  for  Fraulein  Hildegard, 
whom,  to  my  wonder,  I  found  standing  in  all  the 
glory  of  her  ball-toilet  (for  she  was  evidently  afraid 
to  sit  down)  in  the  middle  of  the  sombre  drawing- 
room.  I  had  been  prepared  to  wait  for  a  good 
half-hour,  and  accordingly  felt  a  little  provoked  at 
myself  for  my  seeming  negligence. 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  155 

"  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,"  she  said,  as  I  sat 
compressed  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  striving  to 
reduce  myself  to  the  smallest  practicable  dimen- 
sions, "  that  this  is  my  first  ball.  I  don't  know 
any  of  the  gentlemen  who  will  be  there  to-night, 
but  I  know  two  or  three  Milwaukee  ladies  who 
have  promised  to  come,  so,  even  if  I  don't  dance 
much,  I  shall  not  feel  lonely." 

"  Of  course  you  will  give  me  the  first  chance  at 
your  card,"  I  answered.  "  How  many  dances 
will  you  grant  me  ?  " 

"  As  many  as  you  want.  Uncle  was  very  ex- 
plicit in  impressing  upon  me  'that  I  am  to  obey 
you  unquestioningly  and  have  no  will  of  my 
own." 

"  That  was  very  unkind  of  him.  I  shall  be  un- 
willirig  to  claim  any  privilege  which  you  do  not  of 
your  own  free  will  bestow  upon  me." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  so,"  she  answered,  impulsively, 
and  by  the  passing  light  of  a  gas-lamp  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  beaming,  innocent  face.  "  I  shall 
not  be  apt  to  forget  that  I  am  indebted  to  your 
kindness  for  all  the  pleasure  I  shall  have  to-night, 
and  if  you  wish  to  dance  with  me,  of  course  it  is 
very  kind  of  you." 

"  Well,  that  is  not  much  better,"  I  murmured, 
ruefully,  feeling  very  guilty  at  heart.  "  On  that 
ground  I  should  be  still  more  reluctant  to  assert 
my  claim  on  you." 


1 56  A  Knight  of  Dauncbrog. 

"  Oh,  what  a  bungler  I  am  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
with  half-amused  regret.  "  The  truth  is,  I  am  so 
glad,  and  when  I  am  very  happy  I  always  make 
blundering  speeches." 

As  we  entered  the  magnificently  lighted  and 
decorated  hall,  I  noticed,  to  my  dismay,  that  the 
company  was  a  little  more  mixed  than  I  had  anti- 
cipated. I  had,  therefore,  no  scruples  in  putting 
down  my  name  for  four  waltzes  and  a  quadrille.  I 
observed,  too,  that  my  fair  partner  attracted  much 
attention,  partly,  perhaps,  on  account  of  her  beauty, 
and  partly  on  account  of  her  superb  toilet.  Her 
dress  was  of  satin,  of  a  cool,  lucid,  sea-green  tint, 
such  as  one  sees  in  the  fjords  of  Norway  on  a 
bright  summer's  day ;  the  illusion  was  so  perfect 
that  in  dancing  with  her  I  expected  every  moment 
to  see  sea-weeds  and  pale-green  things  sprouting 
up  along  its  border,  and  the  white  bunches  of 
lilies-of-the-valley  in  her  hair,  as  they  wafted  their 
faint  fragrance  toward  me,  seemed  almost  an  ano- 
maly. She  danced,  not  with  vehement  abandon, 
but  with  an  airy,  rhythmical  grace,  as  if  the  music 
had  entered  into  her  soul  and  her  limbs  were  but 
obeying  their  innate  tuneful  impulse.  When  we 
had  finished  the  first  waltz,  I  left  her  in  the  com- 
pany of  one  of  her  Milwaukee  friends  and  started 
out  in  quest  of  some  acceptable  male  partner  whose 
touch  of  her  I  should  not  feel  to  be  a  positive  des- 
ecration. I  had  reached  about  the  middle  of  the 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  157 

hall  when  an  affectionate  slap  on  my  shoulder 
caused  me  to  turn  around. 

"  Dannevig !  "  I  exclaimed,  with  frigid  amaze- 
ment. "  By  Jove  !  Where  do  you  come  from  ? 
You  are  as  unexpected  as  a  thunderclap  from  a 
cloudless  sky." 

"  Which  was  a  sign  that  Jupiter  was  wroth," 
replied  Dannevig,  promptly,  "  and  required  new 
sacrifices.  Now  the  sacrifice  I  demand  of  you  is 
that  you  shall  introduce  me  to  that  charming  little 
girl  you  have  had  the  undeserved  luck  of  secur- 
ing." 

"  You  choose  your  metaphors  well,"  I  remarked, 
calmly.  "  But,  as  you  know,  even  the  Romans 
with  all  their  reputed  hardness  of  heart,  were  too 
conscientious  to  tolerate  human  sacrifices.  And  I, 
being,  in  the  present  instance,  the  pontifex,  would 
never  be  a  party  to  such  an  atrocity." 

The  transformation  which  Dannevig's  face  un- 
derwent was  almost  terrible.  A  look  of  perfectly 
animal  savageness  distorted  for  a  brief  moment  his 
handsome  features ;  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  brow 
was  one  mass  of  wrinkles. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  refuse  to  intro- 
duce me  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean  to  say,"  I  an- 
swered, with  well-feigned  coolness. 

"  And  do  you  really  suppose,"  he  continued, 
while  his  brow  slowly  relaxed,  "  that  you  can  pre- 


158  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

vent  me  from  making  that  girl's  acquaintance,  if  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  thwart  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  anything  of  the  kind,"  was  my 
reply.  "  But  you  know  me  well  enough  to  be 
aware  that  you  cannot  browbeat  me.  She  shall, 
at  all  events,  not  owe  your  acquaintance  to  me." 

Dannevig  stood  for  a  while,  pondering ;  then, 
with  one  of  those  sudden  transitions  of  feeling  which 
were  so  characteristic  of  him,  he  continued  in  a 
tone  of  good-fellowship : 

"Come,  now;  this  is  ridiculous!  You  have 

been  dining  on  S 's  leathery  beef-steak, 

which  I  have  so  frequently  warned  you  against, 
and,  what  is  worse,  you  have  had  mince  pie  for 
dessert.  Your  digestion  is  seriously  deranged. 
For  old  friends  like  you  and  me  to  quarrel  over  a 
little  chit  of  a  girl,  is  as  absurd  as  committing  sui- 
cide because  you  have  scratched  your  hand  with  a 
pin.  If  your  heart  is  really  engaged  in  this  affair, 
then  I  wont  interfere  with  you.  I  wish  you  luck, 
although  judging  by  what  I  have  seen,  I  should 
say  you  might  have  made  a  better  choice.  Au 
rcvoir." 

He  skipped  lightly  down  the  floor,  and  was  lost 
in  the  crowd.  Having  selected  some  journalistic 
friends  as  partners  for  Fraulcin  Hildegard,  and  lis- 
tened with  great  patience  to  their  rhapsodies  over 
her  beauty  and  loveliness,  I  stationed  myself  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  hall,  and  in  philosophic  discon- 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  159 

tent  watched  the  dancers.  Dannevig's  parting 
words  had  filled  me  with  vague  alarm  ;  I  knew 
that  they  were  insincere,  and  I  suspected  that  he 
was  even  now  at  work  to  accomplish  some  disas- 
trous intention.  At  this  moment  a  coupfe  came 
whirling  straight  toward  me  ;  a  pale-green  satin 
train  swept  over  my  feet,  and  the  cross  of  the 
order  of  Dannebrog  sent  a  swift  flash  into  my  very 
eyes.  A  fierce  exclamation  escaped  me  ;  my  blood 
was  in  tumult.  I  began  to  feel  dangerous.  As 
the  usual  accelerated  rush  of  violins  and  drums  an- 
nounced that  the  dance  was  near  its  end,  I  did  not 
dare  to  seek  my  fair  partner,  and  I  had  no  pleasure 
to  feign  when  I  saw  her  advancing,  with  a  light 
and  eager  step,  to  where  I  was  standing.  She  was 
evidently  too  preoccupied  to  notice  the  change  I 
had  undergone  since  our  last  parting. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  with  as  near  an  approach  to 
archness  as  a  woman  of  her  type  is  capable  of, 
"  you  must  not  think  me  odd  if  I  do  something 
that  may  seem  to  you  a  little  bit  unconventional. 
It  is  only  your  own  kindness  to  me  which  encour- 
ages me  to  ask  a  favor,  which  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  you  would  rather  grant  than  not.  The  fact 
is,  there  is  a  gentleman  who  wishes  very  much 
to  dance  with  me,  and  my  card  is  already  full. 
Now,  would  you  mind  giving  up  one  of  yours  ?  I 
know,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  was  from  a  sense 
of  duty  that — that — that  you  took  so  many,"  she 


160  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

finished  desperately,  as  I  refused  to  come  to  her 
aid. 

"We  will  not  discuss  my  motives,  Fraulein,"  I 
said,  with  as  much  friendliness  as  I  had  at  my  com- 
mand.' "  But,  before  granting  your  not  unreason- 
able request,  you  must  be  good  enough  to  tell  me 
who  the  gentleman  is  who  is  to  profit  by  my  sac- 
rifice." 

"  His  name  is  Mr.  Dannevig.  He  is  a  knight  of 
Dannebrog,  and  moreover,  as  he  tells  me,  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  yours." 

"  Tell  him,  then,  Fraulein,  that  he  might  have 
presumed  sufficiently  upon  our  friendship  to  prefer 
his  request  in  person,  instead  of  sending  you  as  his 
messenger." 

The  color  sprang  to  her  cheeks  ;  she  swept  ab- 
ruptly around,  and  with  an  air  of  outraged  majesty, 
marched  defiantly  down  the  hall. 

The  night  wore  on.  The  hour  for  supper  came, 
and  politeness  forced  me  to  go  and  find  Miss  Pfei- 
fer.  Then  we  sat  down  in  a  corner,  and  ate  and 
chattered  in  a  heedless,  dispirited  fashion,  dwelling 
with  feigned  interest  on  trifling  themes,  and  as  by 
a  tacit  agreement  avoiding  each  other's  glances. 
Then  some  gentleman  came  to  claim  her,  and  I  was 
almost  glad  that  she  was  gone.  And  yet,  in  the 
very  next  moment  a  passionate  regret  came  over 
me,  as  for  a  personal  loss,  and  I  would  fain  have 
called  her  back  and  told  her,  with  friendly  direct- 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  161 

ness,  my  reasons  for  interfering  so  rudely  with  her 
pleasure. 

* 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  sat  thus  idly  nursing 
my  discontent,  and  now  and  then,  as  my  anger 
blazed  up,  muttering  some  fierce  execration  against 
Dannevig.  What  was  this  girl  to  me,  after  all  ?  I 
was  certainly  not  in  love  with  her.  And  if  she 
chose  to  ruin  herself,  what  business  had  I  to  pre- 
vent her?  But  then,  she  was  a  woman,  and  a 
sweet  and  pure  and  true-hearted  woman  ;  it  was, 
at  all  events,  my  duty  to  open  her  eyes,  and  I 
vowed  that,  even  though  she  should  hate  me  for  it, 
I  would  tell  her  the  truth.  I  looked  at  my  wjitch  ; 
it  was  a  few  minutes  past  two.  With  a  sting  of 
self-reproach,  I  remembered  my  promise  to  Mr. 
Pfeifer,  and  resolved  not  to  shirk  the  responsibility 
I  had  voluntarily  assumed.  I  hastened  up  the 
hall,  then  down  again,  surveyed  the  dancers,  sent 
a  girl  into  the  dressing-room  with  a  message  ;  but 
Fraulein  Hildegard  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A 
horrible  thought  flashed  through  me.  I  seized  my 
hat,  and  rushed  down  into  the  restaurant.  There, 
in  an  inner  apartment,  divided  from  the  public 
room  by  drooping  curtains,  I  found  her,  laughing 
and  chatting  gayly  with  Dannevig  over  a  glass  of 
Champagne  and  a  dish  of  ice-cream. 

"  Fraulein,"  I  said,  approaching  her  with  grave 
politeness,  "  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  interrupt 
this  agreeable  tete-a-tete.  But  the  carriage  has  ar- 


1 62  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

rived,  and  I  must  claim  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany." 

"  Now,  really,"  she  exclaimed,  with  impulsive 
regret,  while  her  eyes  still  hung  with  a  fascinated 
gaze  on  Dannevig's  face,  "  is  it,  then,  so  necessary 
that  we  should  go  just  now  ?  Do  you  really  insist 
upon  it  ?  Mr.  Dannevig  was  just  telling  me  some 
charming  adventures  of  his  life  in  Denmark." 

"  I  am  happy  to  say,"  I  answered,  "  that  I  am 
so  well  familiar  with  Mr.  Dannevig's  adventures  as 
to  be  quite  competent  to  supplement  his  fragmen- 
tary statements.  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  continue 
the  entertainment " 

"  Sacr-r-r-t  nom  de  Dieu!"  Dannevig  burst 
forth,  leaping  up  from  his  seat.  "  This  is  more 
than  I  can  bear  !  "  and  he  pulled  a  card  from  his 
portmonnaie  and  flung  it  down  on  the  table  before 
me.  "  May  I  request  the  honor  of  a  meeting  ?  " 
he  continued,  in  a  calmer  voice.  "  It  is  high  time 
that  we  two  should  settle  our  difficulties  in  the  only 
way  in  which  they  are  capable  of  adjustment." 

"  Mr.  Dannevig,"  I  replied,  with  a  cool  irony 
which  I  was  far  from  feeling,  "  the  first  rule  of 
the  code  of  honor,  to  which  you  appeal,  is,  as  you 
are  aware,  that  the  combatants  must  be  equals  in 
birth  and  station.  Now,  you  boast  of  being  of 
royal  blood,  while  I  have  no  such  claim  to  distinc- 
tion. You  sec,  therefore,  that  your  proposition 
is  absurd." 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  163 

Miss  Hildegard  had  in  the  meanwhile  risen  to  take 
my  proffered  arm,  and  with  a  profound  bow  to  the 
indignant  hero  we  moved  out  of  the  room.  Dur- 
ing our  homeward  ride  hardly  a  word  was  spoken  ; 
the  wheels  rattled  away  over  the  uneven  pave- 
ment, and  the  coachman  snapped  his  whip,  while 
we  sat  in  opposite  corners  of  the  carriage,  each 
pursuing  his  or  her  own  lugubrious  train  of  thought. 
But  as  we  had  mounted  together  the  steps  to  Mr. 
Pfeifer's  mansion,  and  I  was  applying  her  latch-key 
to  the  lock,  she  suddenly  held  out  her  hand  to  me, 
and  I  grasped  it  eagerly  and  held  it  close  in  mine. 

"  Really,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  conciliation,  "  I 
like  you  too  well  to  wish  to  quarrel  with  you. 
Won't  you  please  tell  me  candidly  why  you  objected 
to  my  dancing  with  Mr.  Dannevig?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  I  responded  warmly  ;  "  if 
you  will  give  me  the  opportunity.  In  the  mean- 
while you  will  have  to  accept  my  reasons  on  trust, 
and  believe  that  they  were  very  weighty.  You 
may  feel  assured  that  I  should  not  have  run  the 
risk  of  offending  you,  if  I  had  not  felt  convinced 
that  Dannevig  is  a  man  whose  acquaintance  no 
young  lady  can  claim  with  impunity.  I  have 
known  him  for  many  years,  and  I  do  not  speak 
rashly." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  very  severe  judge,"  she 
murmured  sadly.  "  Good-night." 


164  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 


VII. 

DURING  the  next  months  many  rumors  of  Dan- 
nevig's  excesses  reached  me  from  various  sources. 
He  had  obtained  a  position  as  interpreter  for  one 
of  the  Immigration  Companies,  and  made  semi- 
monthly excursions  to  Quebec,  taking  charge  of 
the  immigrants,  and  conducting  them  to  Chicago. 
The  opportunity  for  revealing  his  past  history  to 
Miss  Pfeifer  somehow  never  presented  itself,  al- 
though I  continued  to  call  frequently,  and  spent 
many  delightful  evenings  with  her  and  her  uncle. 
However,  I  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that 
the  occasion  for  such  a  revelation  no  longer  existed, 
and  I  had  no  desire  needlessly  to  persecute  a  man 
whose  iniquities  could,  at  all  events,  harm  no  one 
but  himself.  And  still,  knowing  from  experience 
his  talent  for  occult  diplomacy,  I  took  the  precau- 
tion (without  even  remotely- implicating  Miss  Hil- 
degard)  to  put  Mr.  Pfeifer  on  his  guard.  One 
evening,  as  we  were  sitting  alone  in  his  library  en- 
joying a  confidential  smoke,  I  related  to  him, 
merely  as  part  of  the  secret  history  of  our  paper, 
some  of 'Dunncvig's  questionable  exploits  while  in 
our  employ.  Pfeifer  was  hugely  entertained,  and 
swore  that  Danncvig  was  the  most  interesting  ras- 
cal he  had  ever  heard  of. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  surprised  by  a  call  from 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  165 

Dannevig,  who  seemed  again  to  be  in  the  full  bloom 
of  prosperity.  And  yet,  that  inexpressible  flavor 
of  aristocracy,  and  that  absolute  fineness  of  type 
which  at  our  first  meeting  had  so  fascinated  me, 
had  undergone  some  subtle  change  which  was  al- 
most too  fleeting  for  words  to  express.  To  put  it 
bluntly,  he  had  not  borne  transplantation  well. 
Like  the  finest  European  grapes,  he  had  thriven  in 
our  soil,  but  turned  out  a  coarser  product  than  na- 
ture intended.  He  talked  With  oppressive  brillian- 
cy about  everything  under  the  sun,  patronized  me 
(as  indeed  he  had  always  done),  and  behaved  with 
a  certain  effusive  amiability,  the  impudence  of  which 
was  simply  masterly. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  cried,  with  fine  unconcern, 
"speaking  of  beer,  how  is  your  friend,  MissPfeifer? 
Her  old  man,  I  believe,  owns  a  good  deal  of  stock  in 
this  paper,  quite  a  controlling  interest,  I  am  told." 

"  It  will  not  pay  to  make  love  to  her  on  that 
ground,  Dannevig,"  I  answered,  gravely,  knowing 
well  enough  that  he  had  come  on  a  diplomatic  er- 
rand. "  Mr.  Pfeifer  is,  in  the  first  place,  not  her 
father,  and  secondly,  he  has  at  least  a  dozen  other 
heirs." 

"  Make  love  to  Miss  Pfeifer  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with 
a  hearty  laugh.  "  Why,  I  should  just  as  soon 
think  of  making  love  m  to  General  Grant!  Taking 
her  all  in  all,  bodily  and  mentally,  there  is  a  certain 
Teutonic  heaviness  and  tenacity  about  her — a  cer- 


1 66  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

tain  professorial  ponderosity  of  thought  which 
would  give  me  a  nightmare.  She  is  the  innocent 
result  of  twenty  generations  of  beer-drinking." 

"  Suppose  we  change  the  subject,  Dannevig,"  I 
interrupted,  rather  impatiently. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  not  the  oddest  piece  I  ever 
did  come  across  !  "  he  replfed,  laughingly.  "  You 
don't  suppose  she  is  a  saint,  do  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  !  "  I  thundered,  "  and  you  would 
greatly  oblige  by  never  mentioning  her  name  again 
in  my  presence,  or  I  might  be  tempted  to  do  what 
I  might  regret." 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  cried,  laying  hold  of  the  door- 
knob. "  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  your  dangerous 
mood  to-day.  You  might  at  least  have  given  a 
fellow  warning.  Suppose,  henceforth,  when  you 
have  your  bad  days,  you  post  a  placard  on  the 
door,  with  the  inscription  :  '  Dangerous — must  not 
be  crossed."  Then  I  might  know  when  not  to  call. 
Good-morning." 

On  the  lake  shore,  a  short  distance  north  of 
Lincoln  Park,  Mr.  Pfeifer  had  a  charming  little  villa 
where  he  spent  the  summer  months  in  idyllic  drow- 
siness, exhibiting  a  spasmodic  interest  in  the  cul- 
ture of  European  grapes.  Here  I  found  myself 
one  Saturday  evening  in  the  middle  of  June,  hav- 
ing accepted  the  owner's  invitation  to  stay  over 
Sunday  with  him.  I  rang  the  door-bell,  and  in- 


A  Knight  of  Danncbrog.  167 

quired  for  Mr.  Pfeifer.  He  had  unexpectedly  been 
called  in  to  town,  the  servant  informed  me,  but 
would  return  presently  ;  the  young  lady  I  would 
probably  find  in  the  garden.  As  I  was  not  averse 
to  a  tcte-a-tcte  with  Miss  Hildegard  just  then,  I 
threaded  my  way  carefully  among  the  flower-beds, 
whose  gorgeous  medley  of  colors  gleamed  indis- 
tinctly through  the  twilight.  A  long  bar  of  deep 
crimson  traced  itself  along  the  western  horizon, 
and  here  and  there  a  star  was  struggling  out  from 
the  faint,  blue,  nocturnal  dimness.  Green  and  red 
and  yellow  lights  dotted  the  surface  of  the  lake, 
and  the  waves  beat,  with  a  slow,  gurgling  rhythm, 
against  the  strand  beneath  the  garden  fence  ;  now 
and  then  the  irrational  shrieks  of  some  shrill-voiced 
little  steamer  broke  in  upon- the  stillness  like  an  in- 
appropriately lively  remark  upon  a  solemn  conver- 
sation. I  had  half  forgotten  my  purpose,  and  was 
walking  aimlessly  on,  when  suddenly  I  was  startled 
by  the  sound  of  human  voices,  issuing  apparently 
from  a  dense  arbor  of  grape-vines  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  walk. 

"  Why  will  you  not  believe  me,  darling  ?  "  some 
one  was  saying.  A  great  rush  of  emotion — fear, 
anguish,  hatred,  shook  my  very  soul.  "  Your 
scepticism  would  make  Tyndall  tear  his  hair. 
Angels  have  no  business  to  be  so  sceptical.  You 
are  always  doubting  me,  always  darkening  my  lire 
by  your  irrational  fears." 


1 68  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

"  But,  Victor,"  answered  another  voice,  which 
was  none  other  than  Hildegard's,  "  he  is  certainly 
a  very  good  man,  and  would  not  tell  me  anything 
he  believed  to  be  untrue.  Why,  then,  did  he  warn 
me  so  solemnly  against  you  ?  Even  though  I  love 
you,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  there  is  something 
in  your  past  which  you  hide  from  me." 

"  If  you  will  listen  to  that  white-livered  hypo- 
crite, it  is  useless  for  me  to  try  to  convince  you. 
But,  if  you  must  know  it, — though,  mind  you,  I 
tell  you  this  only  because  you  compel  me, — I  once 
interfered,  because  my  conscience  forced  me  to  do 
so,  in  a  very  disgraceful  love-affair  of  his  in  Den- 
mark. He  has  hated  me  ever  since,  and  is  now 
taking  his  vengeance.  I  will  give  you  the  details 
some  other  time.  Now,  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  No,  Victor,  no.  I  am  not.  It  is  not  because 
I  have  been  listening  to  others,  that  I  torment  you 
with  these  ungrateful  questions.  Sometimes  a 
terrible  dread  comes  over  me,  and  though  my 
heart  rebels  against  it,  I  cannot  conquer  it.  I  feel 
as  if  some  dark  memory,  some  person,  either  living 
or  dead,  were  standing  between  us,  and  would 
ever  keep  you  away  from  me.  It  is  terrible,  Vic- 
tor, but  I  feel  it  even  now." 

"And  then  all  my  love,  my  first  and  only  abid- 
ing passion,  my  life,  which  I  would  gladly  lay 
down  at  your  feet — all  goes  for  naught,  merely 
because  a  foolish  dream  has  taken  possession  of 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog,  169 

you.  Ah,  you  are  ill,  my  darling,  you  arc  ner- 
vous." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  kiss  me.  Not  to-night,  Vic- 
tor, not  to-night." 

The  horrible  discovery  had  completely  stunned 
me.  I  stood  as  if  spell-bound,  and  could  neither 
stir  nor  utter  a  sound.  But  a  sudden  rustling  of 
the  leaves  within  broke  through  the  torpor  of  my 
senses,  and,  with  three  great  strides,  I  stood  at 
the  entrance  to  the  arbor.  Dannevig,  instantly 
recognizing  me,  slipped  dexterously  out,  and  in 
the  next  moment  I  heard  him  leaping  over  the 
fence,  and  running  away  over  the  crisp  sand. 
Miss  Hildegard  stood  still  and  defiant  before  me 
in  the  twilight,  and  the  audible  staccato  of  her 
breath  revealed  to  my  ears  the  agitation  which  the 
deepening  shadows  hid  from  my  eyes.  An  over- 
whelming sense  of  compassion  came  over  me,  as 
for  one  who  had  sustained  a  mortal  hurt  that  was 
beyond  the  power  of  healing.  Alas,  that  sim- 
plicity and  uprightness  of  soul,  and  the  boasted 
womanly  intuitions,  should  be  such  poor  safe- 
guards against  the  wiles  of  the  serpent  !  And  yet, 
I  knew  that  to  argue  with  her  at  this  moment 
would  be  worse  than  vain. 

"Triiulein,"  I  said,  walking  close  up  to  her,  and 
laying  my  hand  lightly  on  her  arm,  "  with  all  my 
heart  I  deplore  this." 

"  Pray,  do  not  inconvenience  yourself  with  any 
8 


170  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

such  superfluous  emotion,"  she  answered,  in  a 
tone,  the  forced  hauteur  of  which  was  truly  path- 
etic. "  I  wish  to  hear  no  accusations  of  Mr. 
Dannevig  from  your  mouth.  What  he  does  not 
choose  to  tell  me  himself,  I  will  hear  from  no  one 
else." 

"  I  have  not  volunteered  any  revelations,  Frau- 
lein,"  I  observed.  "  Moreover,  I  see  you  are 
posing  for  your  own  personal  gratification.  You 
wish  to  convince  yourself  of  your  constancy  by 
provoking  an  attack  from  me.  When  love  has 
reached  that  stage,  Miss  Hildegard,  then  the  pa- 
tient is  no  longer  absolutely  incurable.  Now,  to 
convince  you  that  I  am  right,  will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  look  me  straight  in  the  eyes  and  tell 
me  that  there  is  no  shadow  of  doubt  in  your  heart 
as  to  Mr.  Danncvig's  truthfulness  ;  that,  in  other 
words,  you  believe  that  on  one  occasion  he  assumed 
the  attitude  of  indignant  virtue  toward  me,  and  in 
holy  horror  rebuked  my  profligacy.  Dare  you 
meet  my  eye,  and  tell  me  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  boldly  stepping  out  into 
the  moonlight,  and  meeting  my  eye  with  a  steady 
gaze  ;  but  slowly  and  gradually  the  tears  would 
gather,  her  underlip  would  quiver,  and  with  a  sud- 
den movement  she  turned  around,  and  burst  out 
weeping. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  cannot  !  I  cannot  !  "  she  sobbed, 
sinking  down  upon  the  green  sod. 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  171 

I  stood  long  gazing  mournfully  at  her,  while 
the  sobs  shook  her  frame  ;  there  was  a  childlike, 
hearty  abandon  in  her  grief,  which  eased  my  mind, 
for  it  told  me  that  her  infatuation  was  not  so  hope- 
less, nor  her  hurt  so  great  as  I  had  feared. 

The  next  evening  when  dinner  was  at  an  end, 
Mr.  Pfeifer  proposed  a  walk  in  the  park.  Hilde- 
gard  pleaded  a  headache,  and  wished  to  be  ex- 
cused. 

"  Nonsense,  child,"  said  Pfeifer,  with  his  usual 
good-humored  peremptoriness.  "  If  you  have  a 
headache,  so  much  the  more  ought  you  to  go. 
Put  on  your  things  now,  and  don't  keep  us  waiting 
any  longer  than  you  can  help." 

Hildegard  submitted  with  demure  listlessness, 
and  soon  reappeared  in  her  walking  costume. 

The  daylight  had  faded,  and  the  evening  was  in 
its  softest,  most  ethereal  mood.  The  moon  was 
drifting  lazily  among  the  light  summer  clouds, 
gazing  down  upon  the  many-voiced  tumult  of  the 
crowded  city,  with  that  calm  philosophic  abstrac- 
tion which  always  characterizes  the  moon,  as  if 
she,  up  there  in  her  airy  heights,  were  so  infinitely 
exalted  above  all  the  distracting  problems  and 
doubts  that  harass  our  poor  human  existence. 
We  entered  a  concert  garden,  which  was  filled 
with  gayly  dressed  pleasure  seekers  ;  somewhere 
under  the  green  roof  of  the  trees  an  orchestra  was 


1 72  A  Knight  oj  Dannebrog. 

discoursing  strains  of  German  music  to  a  delighted 
Teutonic  audience. 

"  Donncrwetter  !  "  said  Pfeifer,  enthusiastically  ; 
"  that  is  the  symphony  in  E  flat ;  pretty  well  ren- 
dered too.  Only  hear  that" — and  he  began  to 
whistle  the  air  softly,  with  lively  gesticulations. 
"  Come,  let  us  go  nearer  and  listen." 

"  No,  let  us  stay  here,  uncle,"  remonstrated 
Hildegard.  "  I  don't  think  it  is  quite  nice  to  go 
so  near.  They  are  drinking  beer  there,  and  there 
are  so  many  horrible  people." 

"  Nonsense,  child  !  Where  did  you  get  all 
those  silly  whims  from  ?  Where  it  is  respectable 
for  your  uncle  to  go,  I  am  sure  it  wont  hurt  you 
to  follow." 

We  made  our  way  through  the  throng,  and 
stationed  ourselves  under  a  tree,  from  which  we 
had  a  full  survey  of  the  merry  company,  seated  at 
small  tables,  with  huge  foam-crowned  mugs  of 
beer  before  them.  Suddenly  a  voice,  somewhat 
louder  than  the  rest,  disentangled  itself  from  the 
vague,  inarticulate  buzz,  which  filled  the  air  about 
us.  Swift  as  a  flash  my  eyes  darted  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  voice  came.  There,  within  a 
few  dozen  steps  from  us,  sat  Dannevig  between 
two  gaudily  attired  women  ;  another  man  was 
seated  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and  be- 
tween them  stood  a  couple  of  bottles  and  several 
half-filled  glasses.  The  sight  was  by  no  means 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  173 

new  to  me,  and  still,  in  that  moment,  it  filled  me 
with  unspeakable  disgust.  The  knight  of  Danne- 
brog was  as  charmingly  free-and-easy  as  if  he 
were  nestled  securely  in  the  privacy  of  his  own 
fireside  ;  his  fine  plumes  were  deplorably  ruffled, 
his  hat  thrust  back,  and  his  hair  hanging  in  tangled 
locks  down  over  his  forehead  ;  his  eyes  were  heavy, 
and  a  smile  of  maudlin  happiness  played  about  his 
mouth. 

"  Now,  don't  make  yourself  precious,  my  dear," 
he  was  saying,  laying  his  arm  affectionately  around 
the  waist  of  the  woman  on  his  right.  "  I  like  Ger- 
man kisses.  I  speak  from  experience.  Angels 
have  no  business  to  be " 

"  Himmel,  what  is  the  matter  with  the  child," 
cried  Pfeifer,  in  a  voice  of  alarm.  "  Why,  my 
dear,  you  tremble  all  over.  I  ought  not  to  have 
made  you  go  out  with  that  headache.  Wait  here 
while  I  run  for  some  water." 

Before  I  could  offer  my  services,  he  was  gone, 
leaving  me  alone  with  Hildegard. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  whispered,  with  a  long,  shud- 
dering sigh,  turning  a  white  face,  full  of  fright, 
disgust,  and  pitiful  appeal  toward  me. 

"  Shall  we  not  wait  for  your  uncle  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot.  Let  us  go,"  she  repeated,  seiz- 
ing my  arm,  and  clinging  convulsively  to  me. 

We  walked  slowly  away,  and  were  soon  over- 
taken by  Mr.  Pfeifer. 


1 74  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  child  ?"  he  inquired, 
anxiously. 

"Oh,  I  feel— I  feel — unclean,"  she  whispered 
and  shuddered  again. 


VIII. 

Two  years  passed,  during  which  I  completely 
lost  sight  of  Dannevig.  I  learned  that  he  had 
been  dismissed  from  the  service  of  the  Immigra- 
tion Company  ;  that  he  played  second  violin  for  a 
few  months  at  one  of  the  lowest  city  theatres,  and 
finally  made  a  bold  stroke  for  fame  by  obtaining 
the  Democratic  nomination  for  County  Clerk.  I 
was  faithless  enough,  however,  to  call  attention  to 
the  fact  that  he  had  never  been  naturalized,  where- 
upon, a  new  caucus  was  called,  and  another  candi- 
date was  put  into  the  field. 

The  Pfcifers  I  continued  to  see  frequently,  and, 
at  last,  at  Hildcgard's  own  suggestion,  told  her 
the  story  I  had  so  long  withheld  from  her.  She 
showed  very  little  emotion,  but  sat  pale  and  still 
with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  gazing  gravely  at 
me.  When  I  had  finished,  she  arose,  walked  the 
length  of  the  room,  then  returned,  and  stopped  in 
front  of  me. 

"  Human  life  seems  at  times  a  very  flimsy  affair, 
doesn't  it  ?  "  she  said,  appealing  to  me  again  with 
her  direct  gaze. 


A   Knight  of  Dannebrog.  175 

"  Yes,  if  one  takes  a  cynical  view  of  it,"  I  an- 
swered. 

She  stood  for  a  while  pondering. 

"  Did  I  ever  know  that  man  ?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  abruptly. 

"You  know"  best." 

<(  Then  it  must  have  been  very,  very  long  ago." 

A  slight  shiver  ran  through  her  frame.  She 
shook  my  hand  silently,  and  left  the  room. 

One  evening  in  the  summer  of  1870,  just  as  the 
news  from  the  Franco-Prussian  war  was  arousing 
the  enthusiasm  of  our  Teutonic  fellow-citizens,  I 
was  sauntering  leisurely  homeward,  pondering  with 
much  satisfaction  on  the  course  history  was  taking. 
About  half  a  mile  from  the  Clark  street  bridge  I 
found  my  progress  checked  by  a  crowd  of  men 
who  had  gathered  on  the  sidewalk  outside  of  a 
German  saloon,  and  were  evidently  discussing 
some  exciting  topic.  My  journalistic  instincts 
prompted  me  to  stop  and  listen  to  the  discus- 
sion. 

"  Poor  fellow,  I  guess  he  is  done  for,"  some  one 
was  saying.  "But  they  were  both  drunk;  you 
couldn't  expect  anything  else." 

"Is  any  one  hurt?"  I  asked,  addressing  my 
next  neighbor  in  the  crowd. 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  poor  fool  of  a  Dane.  He  got 
into  a  row  with  somebody  about  the  war.  Said  he 
would  undertake  to  whip  ten  Deutschers  single- 


176  A  Knight  of  Dannebrog. 

handed  ;  that  he  had  done  so  many  a  time  in  the 
Schleswig-Holstein  war.  Then  there  was  some 
fighting,  and  he  was  shot." 

I  spoke  a  few  words  to  the  policeman  at  the 
door,  and  was  admitted.  The  saloon  was  empty, 
but  in  the  billiard-room  at  its  rea?  I  saw  a  doctor 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  bending  over  a  man  who  lay 
outstretched  on  a  billiard-table.  A  bartender  was 
standing  by  with  a  basin  of  water  and  a  bloody 
towel. 

"  Do  you  know  his  name  ?  "  I  inquired  of  the 
police  officer. 

"They  used  to  call  him  Danish  Bill,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Have  known  him  for  a  good  while. 
Believe  his  real  name  was  Danborg,  or  Dan — some- 
thing." 

"  Not  Dannevig  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Dannevig  ?  Yes,  I  guess  you  have  got  it." 

I  hastily  approached  the  table.  There  lay  Dan- 
nevig— but  I  would  rather  not  describe  him.  It 
was  hard  to  believe  it,  but  this  heavy-lidded, 
coarse-skinned,  red-veined  countenance  bore 'a 
cruel,  caricatured  resemblance  to  the  clean-cut, 
exquisitely  modelled  face  of  the  man  I  had  once 
called  my  friend.  A  death-like  stupor  rested  upon 
his  features ;  his  eyes  were  closed,  but  his  mouth 
half  open. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  exclaimed  the  physician,  in  a  burst 
of  professional  enthusiasm,  "  what  a  splendid  ani- 


A   Knight  of  Danncbrog.  177 

mal  he  must  have  been  !  Hardly  saw  a  better  made 
man  in  all  my  life." 

"But  he  is  not  dead  !"  I  protested,  somewhat 
anxiously. 

"No;  but  he  has  no  chance,  that  I  can  see. 
May  last  over  to-morrow,  but  hardly  longer.  Does 
any  one  know  where  he  lodges  ?  " 

No  one  answered. 

"But,  Himmel !  he  cannot  shtay  here."  The 
voice  was  the  bartender's,  but  it  seemed  to  be  ad- 
dressed to  no  one  in  particular. 

"I  have  known  him  for  years,"  I  said.  "Take 
him  to  my  rooms ;  they  are  only  a  dozen  blocks 
away." 

A  carnage  was  sent  for,  and  away  we  drove,  the 
doctor  and  I,  slowly,  cautiously,  holding  the  still 
unconscious  man  between  us.  We  laid  him  on  my 
bed,  and  the  doctor  departed,  promising  to  return 
before  morning. 

A  little  after  midnight  Dannevig  became  restless, 
and  as  I  went  to  his  side,  opened  his  eyes  with  a 
look  of  full,  startled  consciousness. 

"  I'm  about  played  out,  old  fellow,  aint  I  ?  "  he 
groaned. 

I  motioned  to  him  to  be  silent. 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  in  a  strained  whisper,  "  it  is 
no  use  now.  I  know  well  enougli  how  I  stand. 
You  needn't  try  to  fool  me." 

He  lay  for  a  while  motionless,  while  his  eyes 


178  A  Knight  of  Danncbrog. 

wandered  restlessly  about  the  room.  He  made  an 
effort  to  speak,  but  his  words  were  inaudible.  I 
stooped  over  him,  laying  my  ear  to  his  mouth. 

"  Can — can  you  lend  me  five  dollars  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  You  will  find — a  pawnbroker's  check — in  my 
vest  pocket,"  he  continued.  "  The  address  is — 
is — on  it.  Redeem  it.  It  is  a  ring.  Send  it — to 
— to  the  Countess  von  Brehm — with — with — my 
compliments,"  he  finished  with  a  groan. 

We  spent  several  hours  in  silence.  About  three 
o'clock  the  doctor  paid  a  brief  visit ;  and  I  read  in 
his  face  that  the  end  was  near.  The  first  sunbeams 
stole  through  the  closed  shutters  and  scattered 
little  quivering  fragments  of  light  upon  the  carpet. 
A  deep  stillness  reigned  about  us.  As  I  sat  watch- 
ing the  defaced  ruin  of  what  had  been,  to  me  at 
least,  one  of  the  noblest  forms  which  a  human 
spirit  ever  inhabited,  the  past  moved  in. a  vivid 
retrospect  before  my  eye,  and  many  strange  re- 
flections thronged  upon  me.  Presently  Danne- 
vig  called  me  and  I  stood  again  bowing  over 
him. 

"When  you — bury  me,"  he  said  in  a  broken 
whisper.  "  Carry  my — cross  of — Dannebrog — on 
a  cushion  after  me."  And  again  after  a  moment's 
pause  :  "I  have — made  a — nice  mess  of  it,  haven't 
I  ?  I — I — think  it  would — have — have  been  better 
for — me,  if— I  had  been — somebody  else." 


A  Knight  of  Dannebrog.  179 

Within  an  hour  he  was  dead.  Myself  and  two 
policemen  followed  him  to  the  grave  ;  and  the 
cross  of  Dannebrog,  with  a  much  soiled  red  rib- 
bon, was  carried  on  a  velvet  cushion  after  his 
coffin. 


MABEL  AND  I. 

(A   PHILOSOPHICAL   FAIRY   TALE.) 
I. 

"  I  WANT  to  see  things  as  they  are,"  said  I  to 
Mabel. 

"  I  don't  see  how  else  you  can  see  them,"  an- 
swered Mabel,  with  a  laugh.  "  You  certainly  don't 
see  them  as  they  are  not." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  I.  "I  see  men  and  things 
only  as  they  seem.  It  is  so  exasperating  to  think 
that  I  can  never  get  beyond  the  surface  of  any- 
thing. My  friends  may  appear  very  good  and 
beautiful  to  me,  and  yet  I  may  all  the  while  have 
a  suspicion  that  the  appearance  is  deceitful,  that 
they  are  really  neither  good  nor  beautiful." 

"  In  case  that  was  so,  I  shouldn't  want  to  know 
it,"  said  Mabel.  "  It  would  make  me  very  un- 
happy." 

"  That  is  where  you  and  I  differ,"  said  I. 

Mabel  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  I  believe 
she  was  a  little  hurt,  for  I  had  spoken  rather 
sharply. 


Mabel  and  I.  181 

"But  what  good  would  it  do  you,  Jamie?" 
asked  she,  looking  up  at  me  from  under  her  wide- 
brimmed  straw  hat. 

"  What  would  do  me  good  ?  "  said  I,  for  I  had 
quite  forgotten  what  we  had  been  talking  about. 

"  To  see  things  as  they  are.  There  is  my  father 
now  ;  he  knows  a  great  deal,  and  I  am  sure  I 
shouldn't  care  to  know  any  more  than  he  does.'' 

"Well,  that  is  where  you  and  I  differ."  said  I 
again. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  always  saying  '  that  is 
where  you  and  I  differ.'  Somehow  I  don't  like  to 
hear  you  say  it.  It  doesn't  sound  like  yourself." 

And  Mabel  turned  away  from  me,  took  up  a 
leaf  from  the  ground  and  began  to  pick  it  to  pieces. 

We  were  sitting,  at  the  time  when  this  conver- 
sation took  place,  up  in  the  gorge  not  half  a  mile 
from  the  house  where  Mabel's  father  lived.  I  was 
a  tutor  in  the  college,  about  twenty-three  years 
old,  and  I  was  very  fond  of  German  philosophy. 
And  now,  since  I  have  told  who  I  was,  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  tell  you  something  about  Mabel.  Ma- 
bel was, — but  really  it  is  impossible  to  say  what 
she  was,  except  that  she  was  very,  very  charming. 
As  for  the  rest,  she  was  the  daughter  of  Professor 
Markham,  and  I  had  known  her  since  my  college 
days  when  she  was  quite  a  little  girl.  And  now  she 
wore  long  dresses  ;  and,  what  was  more,  she  had 
her  hair  done  up  in  a  sort  of  Egyptian  pyramid  on 


1 82  Mabel  and  I. 

the  top  of  her  head.  The  dress  she  had  on  to-day 
I  was  particularly  fond  of;  it  was  of  a  fine  light 
texture,  and  the  pattern  was  an  endless  repetition 
of  a  small,  sweet-brier  bud,  with  two  delicate  green 
leaves  attached  to  it. 

I  had  spread  a  shawl  out  on  the  ground  where 
Mabel  was  sitting,  for  fear  she  should  soil  her  fine 
dress.  A  large  weeping-willow  spread  its  branches 
all  around  us,  and  drooped  until  it  almost  touched 
the  ground,  so  that  it  made  a  sort  of  green,  sunlit 
summer-house,  for  Mabel  and  me  to  live  in.  Be- 
tween the  rocks  at  our  feet  a  clear  brook  came 
rushing  down,  throwing  before  it  little  showers  of 
spray,  which  fell  like  crystal  pearls  on  the  water, 
sailed  down  the  swift  eddies  and  then  vanished  in 
the  next  whirlpool.  A  couple  of  orioles  in  brand- 
new  yellow  uniforms,  with  black  epaulets  on  their 
shoulders,  were  busy  in  the  tree  -over  our  heads, 
but  stopped  now  and  then  in  their  work  to  refresh 
themselves  with  a  little  impromptu  duet. 

' '  Work  and  play 
Make  glad  the  day," — 

that  seemed  to  be  their  philosophy,  and  Mabel  and 
I  were  quite  ready  to  agree  with  them,  although 
we  had  been  idling  since  the  early  dawn.  But  then 
it  was  so  long  since  we  had  seen  each  other,  that 
we  thought  we  could  afford  it. 

"  Somehow,"  said  Mabel  at  last  (for  she  never 


Mabel  and  L  183 

could  pout  long  at  a  time),  "  I  don't  like  you  so 
well  since  you  came  back  from  Germany.  You 
are  not  as  nice  as  you  used  to  be.  What  did  you 
go  there  for,  anyway  ?  " 

"Why,"  I  responded,  quite  seriously,  "  I  went 
there  to  study  ;  and  I  did  learn  a  good  deal  there, 
although  naturally  I  was  not  as  industrious  as  I 
might  have  been." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  that.  But,  tell  me,  what 
did  you  learn  that  you  mightn't  just  as  well  have 
learned  at  home  ?  " 

I  thought  it  was  no  use  in  being  serious  any 
longer  ;  so  I  tossed  a  pebble  into  the  water,  glanced 
up  into  Mabel's  face  and  answered  gayly  : 

"  Well,  I  learned  something  about  gnomes  and 
pigmies  and  elves  and  fairies  and  salamanders, 
and " 

"  And  what  ?  "  interrupted  Mabel,  impatiently. 

"  And  salamanders,"  repeated  I.  "You  know 
the  forests  and  rivers  and  mountains  of  Germany 
are  full  of  all  sorts  of  strange  sprites,  and  you  know 
the  people  believe  in  them,  and  that  is  one  of  the 
things  which  make  life  in  the  Old  World  so  fasci- 
nating. But  here  we  are  too  prosy  and  practical 
and  business-like,  and  we  don't  believe  in  anything 
except  what  we  can  touch  with  our  hands,  and  see 
with  our  eyes,  and  sell  for  money." 

"  Now,  Jamie,  that  is  not  true,"  responded  Ma- 
bel, energetically  ;  for  she  was  a  strong  American 


184  Mabel  and  I. 

at  heart,  and  it  didn't  take  much  to  rouse  her.  "  I 
believe,  for  instance,  that  you  know  a  great  deal, 
although  not  as  much  as  my  father;  but  I  can't 
see  your  learning  with  my  eyes,  neither  can  I  touch 
it  with  my  hands " 

"  But  I  hope  I  can  sell  it  for  money,"  inter- 
rupted I,  laughing. 

"  No,  joking  aside.  I  don't  think  we  are  quite 
as  bad  as  you  would  like  to  make  us  out." 

"  And  then  you  think,  perhaps,  that  the  gnomes 
and  river-sprites  would  be  as  apt  to  thrive  here  as 
in  the  Old  World?" 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  Mabel,  with  an  expression 
that  seemed  to  me  half  serious  and  half  playful. 
"But  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  something  about 
your  German  sprites.  I  am  so  very  ignorant  in 
such  things,  you  know." 

I  stretched  myself  comfortably  on  the  edge  of 
the  shawl  at  Mabel's  feet,  and  began  to  tell  her  the 
story  about  the  German  peasant  who  caught  the 
gnome  that  had  robbed  his  wheat-field. 

''The  gnomes  wear  tiny  red  caps,"  I  went  on, 
"  which  make  them  invisible.  They  are  called 
tarn-caps,  or  caps  of  darkness.  The  peasant  that 
I  am  telling  about  had  a  suspicion  that  it  was  the 
gnomes  who  had  been  stealing  his  wheat.  One 
evening,  he  went  out  after  sunset  (for  the  gnomes 
never  venture  out  from  their  holes  until  the  sun  is 
down)  and  began  to  fight  in  the  air  with  his  cane 


Mabel  and  I.  185 

about  the  borders  of  the  field.  Then  suddenly  he 
saw  a  very  tiny  man  with  knee-breeches  and  large 
frightened  eyes,  turning  a  somersault  in  the  grass ' 
right  at  his  feet.  He  had  struck  off  his  cap,  and 
then,  of  course,  the  gnome  was  no  longer  invisible. 
The  peasant  immediately  seized  the  cap  and  put  it 
into  his  pocket ;  the  gnome  begged  and  implored 
to  get  it  back,  but  instead  of  that,  the  peasant 
caught  him  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  to  his 
house,  where  he  kept  him  as  a  captive  until  the 
other  gnomes  sent  a  herald  to  him  and  offered  him 
a  large  ransom.  Then  the  gnome  was  again  set 
free  and  the  peasant  made  his  fortune  by  the  trans- 
action." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  delightful  if  such  things  could 
ever  happen  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  while  her 
beautiful  eyes  shone  with  pleasure  at  the  very 
thought. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  I.  "  It  is  said,  too, 
that  if  there  are  gnomes  and  elves  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, they  always  gather  around  you  when  you 
talk  about  them." 

"  Really  ?  "  And  Mabel  sent  a  timid  glance  in 
among  the  large  mossy  trunks  of  the  beeches  and 
pines. 

"  Tell  me  something  more,  Jamie,"  she  demand- 
ed, eagerly. 

Mabel  had  such  a  charming  way  of  saying 
"  Jamie,"  that  I  could  never  have  opposed  a  wish 


1 86  Mabel  and  I. 

of  hers,  whatever  it  might  be.  The  professor  called 
me  James,  and  among  my  friends  I  was  Jim  ;  but 
it  was  only  Mabel  who  called  me  Jamie.  So  I  told 
her  all  I  knew  about  the  nixies,  who  sang  their 
strange  songs  at  midnight  in  the  water ;  about  the 
elves,  who  lived  in  "the  roses  and  lilies,  and  danced 
in  a  ring  around  the  tall  flowers  until  the  grass 
never  grew  there  again  ;  and  about  the  elf-maiden 
who  led  the  knight  astray  when  he  was  riding  to 
his  bride  on  his  wedding-day.  And  all  the  while 
Mabel's  eyes  seemed  to  be  growing  larger  ;  the 
blood  burned  in  her  cheeks,  and  sometimes  she 
shuddered,  although  the  afternoon  was  very  warm. 
When  I  had  finished  my  tale,  I  rose  and  seated, 
myself  at  her  side.  The  silence  suddenly  seemed 
quite  oppressive  ;  it  was  almost  as  if  we  could  hear 
it.  For  some  reason  neither  Mabel  nor  I  dared  to 
speak  ;  but  we  both  strained  our  ears  listening  to 
something,  we  did  not  know  what.  Then  there 
came  a  strange  soft  whisper  which  filled  the  air  all 
about  us,  and  I  thought  I  heard  somebody  calling 
my  name. 

"  They  are  calling  you,  Jamie,"  whispered  Ma- 
bel. 

"  Calling  me  ?  Who  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Up  there  in  the  tree.     No,  not  there.     It  is 
down  in  the  brook.     Everywhere." 

"  Oh,"  cried  I,  with  a  forced  laugh.     "  We  are 
two  great  children,  Mabel.     It  is  nothing." 


Mabel  and  I.  187 

Suddenly  all  was  silent  once  more ;  but  the 
wood-stars  and  violets  at  my  feet  gazed  at  me  with 
such  strange,  wistful  eyes,  that  I  was  almost 
frightened. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,  Jamie,"  said 
Mabel.  "  You  killed  them." 

"  Killed  what?" 

"  The  voices,  the  strange,  small  voices." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  I,  as  I  took  Mabel's  hands 
and  helped  her  to  rise.  "  I  am  afraid  we  are  both 
losing  our  senses.  Come,  let  us  go.  The  sun  is 
already  down.  It  must  be  after  tea-time." 

"  But  you  know  we  were  talking  about  them," 
whispered  sh£,  still  with  the  same  fascinated  gaze 
in  her  eyes.  "Ah,  there,  take  care!  Don't  step 
on  that  violet.  Don't  you  see  how  its  mute  eyes 
implore  you  to  spare  its  life  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  see,"  answered  I ;  and  I  drew 
Mabel's  arm  through  mine,  and  we  hurried  down 
the  wood-path,  not  daring  to  look  back,  for  we  had 
both  a  feeling  as  if  some  one  was  walking  close 
behind  us,  in  our  steps. 


II. 

Ir  was  a  little  after  ten,  I  think,  when  I  left  the 
professor's  house,  where  I  had  been  spending  the 
evening,  and  started  on  my  homeward  way. 

As  I  walked  along  the  road  the  thought  of  Ma- 


1 88  Mabel  and  I. 

bel  haunted  me.  I  wondered  whether  I  ever  should 
be  a  professor,  like  her  father,  and  ended  with  con- 
cluding that  the  next  best  thing  to  being  one's  self 
a  professor  would  be  to  be  a  professor's  son-in-law. 
But,  somehow,  I  wasn't  at  all  sure  that  Mabel  cared 
anything  about  me. 

"  Things  are  not  what  they  seem,"  I  murmured 
to  myself,  "  and  the  real  Mabel  may  be  a  very  dif- 
ferent creature  from  the  Mabel  whom  I  know." 

There  was  not  much  comfort  in  that  thought, 
but  nevertheless  I  could  not  get  rid  of  it.  I  glanced 
up  to  the  big  round  face  of  the  moon,  which  had  a 
large  ring  of  mist  about  its  neck  ;  and  looking  more 
closely  I  thought  I  saw  a  huge  floundering  body, 
of  which  the  moon  was  the  head,  crawling  heavily 
across  the  sky,  and  stretching  a  long  misty  arm 
after  me.  I  hurried  on,  not  caring  to  look  right 
or  left  ;  and  I  suppose  I  must  have  taken  the  wrong 
turn,  for  as  I  lifted  my  eyes,  I  found  myself  stand- 
ing under  the  willow-tree  at  the  creek  where  Mabel 
and  I  had  been  sitting  in  the  afternoon.  The  lo- 
custs, with  their  shrill  metallic  voices,  kept  whirring 
away  in  the  grass,  and  I  heard  their  strange  hissing 
sh-h-h-h-h,  now  growing  stronger,  then  weakening 
again,  and  at  last  stopping  abruptly,  as  if  to  say  : 
"  Didn't  I  do  well  ?  "  But  the  blue-eyed  violets 
shook  their  heads,  and  that  means  in  their  lan- 
guage :  "  No,  I  don't  think  so  at  all."  The  water, 
which  descended  in  three  successive  falls  into  the 


Mabel  and  I.  189 

wide,  dome-shaped  gorge,  seemed  to  me,  as  I  stood 
gazing  at  it,  to  be  going  the  wrong  way,  crawling, 
with  eager,  foamy  hands,  up  the  ledges  of  the  rock 
to  where  I  was  standing. 

"  I  must  certainly  be  mad,"  thought  I,  "  or  I  am 
getting  to  be  a  poet." 

In  order  to  rid  myself  of  the  painful  illusion, 
which  was  every  moment  getting  more  vivid,  I 
turned  my  eyes  away  and  hurried  up  along  the 
bank,  while  the  beseeching  murmur  of  the  waters 
rang  in  my  ears. 

As  I  had  ascended  the  clumsy  wooden  stairs 
which  lead  up  to  the  second  fall,  I  suddenly  saw 
two  little  blue  lights  hovering  over  the  ground  di- 
rectly in  front  of  me. 

"Will-o'-the-wisps,"  said  I  to  myself.  "The 
ground  is  probably  marshy." 

I  pounded  with  my  cane  on  the  ground,  but,  as 
I  might  have  known,  it  was  solid  rock.  It  was  cer- 
tainly very  strange.  I  flung  myself  down  behind 
the  trunk  of  a  large  hemlock.  The  two  blue  lights 
came  hovering  directly  toward  me.  I  lifted  my 
cane, — with  a  swift  blow  it  cut  the  air,  and, — who 
can  imagine  my  astonishment  ?  Right  in  front  of 
me  I  saw  a  tiny  man,  not  much  bigger  than  a  good- 
sized  kitten,  and  at  his  side  lay  a  small  red  cap  ; 
the  cap,  of  course,  I  immediately  snatched  up  and 
put  it  in  a  separate  apartment  in  my  pocket-book 
to  make  sure  that  I  should  not  lose  it.  One  of  the 


Mabel  and  I. 

• 

lights  hastened  away  to  the  rocks  and  vanished 
before  I  could  overtake  it. 

There  was  something  so  very  funny  in  the  idea 
of  finding  a  gnome  in  the  State  of  New  York,  that 
the  strange  fear  which  had  possessed  me  departed, 
and  I  felt  very  much  inclined  to  laugh.  My  blow 
had  quite  stunned  the  poor  little  creature  ;  he  was 
still  lying  half  on  his  back,  as  if  trying  to  raise  him- 
self on  his  elbows,  and  his  large  black  eyes  had  a 
terrified  stare  in  them,  and  seemed  to  be  ready  to 
spring  out  of  their  sockets. 

"  Give — give  me  back  my  cap,"  he  gasped  at 
last,  in  a  strange  metallic  voice,  which  sounded  to 
me  like  the  clinking  of  silver  coins. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  dear,"  said  I.  "What  will 
you  give  me  for  it  ?  " 

"  Anything,"  he  cried,  as  he  arose  and  held  out 
his  small  hand. 

"  Then  listen  to  me,"  continued  I.  "  Can  you  help 
me  to  see  things  as  they  are  ?  In  that  case  I  shall 
give  you  back  your  cap,  but  on  no  other  condition." 

"  See  things  as  they  are  ?  "  repeated  the  gnome, 
wonderingly. 

"  Yes,  and  not  only  as  they  seem,"  rejoined  I, 
with  emphasis. 

"  Return  here  at  midnight,"  began  he,  after  a 
long  silence.  "  Upon  the  stone  where  you  are  sit- 
ting you  shall  find  what  you  want.  If  you  take  it, 
leave  my  cap  on  the  same  spot." 


Mabel  and  I. 

"  That  is  a  fair  bargain,"  said  I.  "  I  shall  be 
here  promptly  at  twelve.  Good-night." 

I  had  extended  my  palm  to  shake  hands  with  my 
new  friend,  but  he  seemed  to  resent  my  politeness ; 
with  a  sort  of  snarl,  he  turned  a  somersault  and 
rolled  down  the  hillside  to  where  the  rocks  rise 
from  the  water. 

I  need  not  say  that  I  kept  my  promise  about  re- 
turning. And  what  did  I  find  ?  A  pair  of  specta- 
cles of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship  ;  the  glasses 
so  clear  as  almost  to  deceive  the  sight,  and  the 
bows  of  gold  spun  into  fine  elastic  threads. 

"  We  shall  soon  see  what  they  are  good  for," 
thought  I,  as  I  put  them  into  the  silver  case,  the 
wonderful  finish  of  which  I  could  hardly  distinguish 
by  the  misty  light  of  the  moon. 

The  little  tarn-cap  I,  of  course,  left  on  the  stone. 
As  I  wandered  homeward  through  the  woods,  I 
thought,  with  a  certain  fierce  triumph,  that  now 
the  beauty  of  Mabel's  face  should  no  more  deceive 
me. 

"  Now,  Mabel,"  I  murmured,  "now  I  shall  see 
you  as  you  are." 

III. 

AT  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  professor's  study. 
"  Come  in,"  said  the  professor. 


192  Mabel  and  I. 

"  Is — is  Mabel  at  home  ?  "  asked  I,  when  I  had 
shaken  hands  with  the  professor  and  seated  myself 
in  one  of  his  hard,  straight-backed  chairs. 

"  She  will  be  down  presently,"  answered  he. 
"  There  is  The  Nation.  You  may  amuse  your- 
self with  that  until  she  comes." 

I  took  up  the  paper ;  but  the  spectacles  seemed 
to  be  burning  in  my  breast-pocket,  and  although  I 
stared  intently  at  the  print,  I  could  hardly  dis- 
tinguish a  word.  What  if  I  tried  the  power  of  the 
spectacles  on  the  professor  ?  The  idea  appeared 
to  me  a  happy  one,  and  I  immediately  proceeded 
to  put  it  into  practice.  With  a  loudly  beating  heart, 
I  pulled  the  silver  case  from  my  pocket,  rubbed  the 
glasses  with  my  handkerchief,  put  them  on  my 
nose,  adjusted  the  bows  behind  my  ears,  and  cast 
a  stealthy  glance  at  the  professor  over  the  edge  of 
my  paper.  But  what  was  my  horror  !  It  was  no 
longer  the  professor  at  all.  It  was  a  huge  parrot, 
a  veritable  parrot  in  slippers  and  dressing-gown  ! 
I  dared  hardly  believe  my  senses.  Was  the  pro- 
fessor really  not  a  man,  but  a  parrot?  My  dear 
trusted  and  honored  teacher,  whom  I  had  always 
looked  upon  as  the  wisest  and  most  learned  of  liv- 
ing men,  could  it  be  possible  that  he  was  "a  parrot  ? 
And  still  there  he  sat,  grave  and  sedate,  a  pair  of 
horn  spectacles  on  his  large,  crooked  beak,  a  few 
stiff  feathers  bristling  around  his  bald  crown,  and 
his  small  eyes  blinking  with  a  sort  of  meaningless 


Mabel  and  I.  193 

air  of  confidence,  as  I  often  had  seen  a  parrot's 
eyes  doing. 

"  My  gnome  has  been  playing  a  trick  on  me,"  I 
thought.  "  This  is  certainly  not  to  see  things  as 
they  are.  If  I  only  had  his  tarn-cap  once  more,  he 
should  not  recover  it  so  cheaply." 

"Well,  my  boy,"  began  the  professor,  as  he 
wheeled  round  in  his  chair,  and  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  on  the  polished  andirons  which 
adorned  the  empty  fire-place.  "  How  is  the  world 
using  you?  Getting  over  your  German  whims, 
eh  ?  " 

Surely  the  spectacles  must  in  some  mysterious 
way  have  affected  my  ears  too.  The  professor's 
voice  certainly  did  sound  very  curious — very  much 
like  the  croak  of  some  bird  that  had  learned  human 
language,  but  had  no  notion  of  what  he  was  saying. 
The  case  was  really  getting  serious.  I  threw  the 
paper  away,  stared  my  teacher  full  in  the  face,  but 
was  so  covered  with  confusion  that  I  could  hardly 
utter  two  coherent  words. 

"  Yes,  yes, — certainly, — professor,"  I  stammered. 
"German  whims? — I  mean  things  as  they  are— 
and — and  not  as  they  seem — das  Ding  an  sick — beg 
your  pardon — I  am  not  sure,  I — I  comprehended 
your  meaning — beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  croaked  the  professor,  opening 
his  beak  in  great  bewilderment,  and  showing  a 
little  thick  red  tongue,  which  curved  upward  like 
9 


194  Mabel  and  I. 

that  of  a  parrot,  "  you  are  certainly  not  well. 
Mabel  !  Mabel  !  Come  down  !  James  is  ill  !  Yes, 
you  certainly  look  wretchedly.  Let  me  feel  your 
pulse." 

I  suppose  my  face  must  have  been  very  much 
flushed,  for  the  blood  had  mounted  to  my  head  and 
throbbed  feverishly  in  my  temples.  As  I  heard 
the  patter  of  Mabel's  feet  in  the  hall,  a  great  dread 
came  over  me.  What  if  she  too  should  turn  out 
to  be  somebody  else — a  strange  bird  or  beast  ? 
No,  not  for  all  the  world  would  I  see  Mabel — the 
dear,  blessed  Mabel — any  differently  from  what  she 
had  always  seemed  to  me.  So  I  tore  the  spectacles 
from  my  nose,  and  crammed  them  into  the  case, 
which  again  I  thrust  into  my  pocket.  In  the  same 
instant  Mabel's  sweet  face  appeared  in  the  door. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  papa  ?  "  she  said  ;  then,  as 
she  saw  me  reclining  on  the  sofa,  jvhere  her  father 
(now  no  longer  a  parrot)  had  forced  me  to  lie 
down,  there  came  a  sudden  fright  into  her  beautiful 
eyes,  and  she  sprang  to  my  side  and  seized  my 
hand  in  hers. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Jamie  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  of 
unfeigned  anxiety,  which  went  straight  to  my  heart. 
"  Has  anything  happened  to  you  ?  " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  the  professor.  "  Don't 
make  him  speak.  It  might  have  proved  a  serious 
attack.  Too  much  studying,  my  dear — too  much 
studying.  To  be  sure,  the  ambition  of  young  men 


Mabel  and  /.  195 

nowadays  is  past  belief.  It  was  different  in  my 
youth.  Then,  every  young  man  was  satisfied  if  he 
could  only  make  a  living — found  a  home  for  him- 
self, and  bring  up  his  family  in  the  fear  of  God. 
But  now,  dear  me,  such  things  are  mere  nursery 
ambitions." 

I  felt  wretched  and  guilty  in  my  heart !  To  be 
thus  imposing  upon  two  good  people,  who  loved 
me  and  were  willing  to  make  every  sacrifice  for  my 
comfort  !  Mabel  had  brought  a  pillow,  and  put  it 
under  my  head  ;  and  now  she  took  out  some  sort 
of  crochet-work,  and  seated  herself  on  a  chair  close 
by  me.  The  professor  stood  looking  at  his  watch 
and  counting  my  pulse-beats. 

"  One  hundred  and  five,"  he  muttered,  and 
shook  his  bald  head.  "  Yes,  he  has  fever.  I  saw 
it  at  once,  as  he  entered  the  room." 

"  Professor,"  I  cried  out,  in  an  agony  of  remorse, 
"  really  I  meant  nothing  by  it.  I  know  very  well 
that  you  are  not  a  parrot — that  you  are — 

"  I — I— a  parrot  !  "  he  exclaimed,  smiling  know- 
ingly at  Mabel.  "  No,  I  should  think  not.  He  is 
raving,  my  dear.  High  fever.  Just  what  I  said. 
Won't  you  go  out  and  send  Maggie  for  the  doctor  ? 
No,  stop,  I  shall  go  myself.  Then  he  will  be  sure 
to  come  without  delay.  It  is  high  time." 

The  professor  buttoned  his  coat  up  to  his  chin, 
fixed  his  hat  at  the  proper  angle  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  departed  in  haste. 


196  Mabel  and  /. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Jamie  dear  ? "  said 
Mabel,  after  awhile. 

"  I  am  very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mabel,"  answered 
I.  "In  fact,  it  is  all  nonsense.  I  am  not  sick  at 
all." 

"  Hush,  hush  !  you  must  not  talk  so  much,"  de- 
manded she,  and  put  her  hand  over  my  mouth. 

My  excitement  was  now  gradually  subsiding,  and 
my  blood  was  returning  to  its  usual  speed. 

"  If  you  don't  object,  Mabel,"  said  I,  "  I'll  get 
up  and  go  home.  There's  nothing  whatever  the 
matter  with  me." 

"  Will  you  be  a  good  boy  and  keep  quiet,"  re- 
joined she,  emphasizing  each  word  by  a  gentle  tap 
on  my  head  with  her  crochet-needle. 

"  Well,  if  it  can  amuse  you  to  have  me  lying 
here  and  playing  sick,"  muttered  I,  "  then,  of 
course,  I  will  do  anything  to  please  you." 

"  That  is  right,"  said  she,  and  gave  me  a  friendly 
nod. 

So  I  lay  still  for  a  long  while,  until  I  came  once 
more  to  think  of  my  wonderful  spectacles,  which 
had  turned  the  venerable  professor  into  a  parrot. 
I  thought  I  owed  Mabel  an  apology  for  what 
I  had  done  to  her  father,  and  I  determined  to 
ease  my  mind  by  confiding  the  whole  story  to 
her. 

"  Mabel,"  I  began,  raising  myself  on  my  elbow, 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  but  you  must 


Mabel  and  I.  197 

promise  me  beforehand  that  you  will  not  be  angry 
with  me." 

"  Angry  with  you,  Jamie  ?  "  repeated  she,  open-  - 
ing  her  bright  eyes  wide  in   astonishment.     "  I 
never  was  angry  with  you  in  my  life." 

"  Very  well,  then.  But  I  have  done  something 
very  bad,  and  I  shall  never  have  peace  until  I  have 
confided  it  all  to  you.  You  are  so  very  good, 
Mabel.  I  wish  I  could  be  as  good  as  you  are." 

Mabel  was  about  to  interrupt  me,  but  I  pre- 
vented her,  and  continued  : 

"  Last  night,  as  I  was  going  home  from  your 
house,  the  moonlight  was  so  strangely  airy  and 
beautiful,  and  without  quite  intending  to  do  it,  I 
found  myself  taking  a  walk  through  the  gorge. 
There  I  saw  some  curious  little  lights  dancing  over 
the  ground,  and  I  remembered  the  story  of  the 
peasant  who  had  caught  the  gnome.  And  do  you 
know  what  I  did  ?  " 

Mabel  was  beginning  to  look  apprehensive. 

"  No,  I  can't  imagine  what  you  did,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  Well,  I  lifted  my  cane,  struck  at  one  of  the 
lights,  and,  before  I  knew  it,  there  lay  a  live  gnome 
on  the  ground,  kicking  with  his  small  legs " 

"Jamie!  Jamie!"  cried  Mabel,  springing  up 
and  gazing  at  me,  as  if  she  thought  I  had  gone 
mad. 

Then  there  was  an  unwelcome  shuffling  of  feet 


198  Mabel  and  I. 

in  the  hall,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  professor 
entered  with  the  doctor. 

"  Papa,  papa  !  "  exclaimed  Mabel,  turning  to 
her  father.  "Do  you  know  what  Jamie  says? 
He  says  he  saw  a  gnome  last  night  in  the  gorge, 
and  that " 

"  Yes,  I  did  !  "  cried  I,  excitedly,  and  sprang  up 
to  seize  my  hat.  "  If  nobody  will  believe  me,  I 
needn't  stay  here  any  longer.  And  if  you  doubt 
what  I  have  been  saying,  I  can  show  you— 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  chimed  in  the  professor,  and 
seized  me  round  the  waist  to  prevent  me  from  es- 
caping. 

"  My  dear  Jamie,"  implored  Mabel,  while  the 
tears  started  to  her  eyes,  "  do  keep  quiet,  do  !  " 

The  doctor  and  the  professor  now  forced  me 
back  upon  the  sofa,  and  I'had  once  more  to  resign 
myself  to  my  fate. 

"  A  most  singular  hallucination,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor, turning  his  round,  good-natured  face  to  the 
doctor.  "  A  moment  ago  he  observed  that  I  was 
not  a  parrot,  which  necessarily  must  have  been 
suggested  by  a  previous  hallucination  that  I  was  a 
parrot." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  and  looked  grave. 

"  Possibly  a  very  serious  case,"  said  he,  "  a  case 
of-  — ,"  and  he  gave  it  a  long  Latin  name,  which 
I  failed  to  catch.  "  It  is  well  that  I  was  called  in 


Mabel  and  I.  199 

time.  We  may  still  succeed  in  mastering  the  dis- 
ease." 

"  Too  much  study?"  suggested  the  professor. 
"Restless  ambition?  Night  labor — severe  appli- 
cation ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded  and  tried  to  look  wise.  Mabel 
burst  into  tears,  and  I  myself,  seeing  her  distress, 
could  hardly  refrain  from  weeping.  And  still  I 
could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was  very  sweet  to 
see  Mabel's  tears  flowing  for  my  sake. 

The  doctor  now  sat  down  and  wrote  a  number 
of  curiously  abbreviated  Latin  words  for  a  prescrip- 
tion, and  handed  it  to  the  professor,  who  folded  it 
up  and  put  it  into  his  pocket-book. 

Half  an  hour  later,  I  lay  in  a  soft  bed  with  snowy- 
white  curtains,  in  a  cozy  little  room  upstairs.  The 
shades  had  been  pulled  down  before  the  windows, 
a  number  of  medicine  bottles  stood  on  a  chair  at 
my  bedside,  and  I  began  to  feel  quite  like  an  in- 
valid— and  all  because  I  had  said  (what  nobody 
could  deny)  that  the  professor  was  not  a  parrot. 


IV. 

.  I  SOON  learned  that  the  easiest  way  to  recover 
my  liberty  was  to  offer  no  resistance,  and  to  say 
nothing  more  about  the  gnome  and  the  spectacles. 
Mabel  came  and  sat  by  my  bedside  for  a  few 
hours  every  afternoon,  and  her  father  visited  me 


2OO  Mabel  and  I. 

regularly  three  times  a  day,  felt  my  pulse  and  gave 
me  a  short  lecture  on  moderation  in  study,  on  the 
evil  effects  of  ambition,  and  on  the  dangerous  tend- 
encies of  modern  speculation. 

The  gnome's  spectacles  I  kept  hidden  under  my 
pillow,  and  many  a  time  when  Mabel  was  with  me 
I  felt  a  strong  temptation  to  try  their  effect  upon 
her.  Was  Mabel  really  as  good  and  beautiful  as 
she  seemed  to  me  ?  Often  I  had  my  hand  on  the 
dangerous  glasses,  but  always  the  same  dread  came 
over  me,  and  my  courage  failed  me.  That  sweet, 
fair,  beautiful  face, — what  could  it  be,  if  it  was  not 
what  it  seemed  ?  No,  no,  I  loved  Mabel  too  well 
as  she  seemed,  to  wish  to  know  whether  she  was  a 
delusion  or  a  reality.  What  good  would  it  do  me 
if  I  found  out  that  she  too  was  a  parrot,  or  a  goose, 
or  any  other  kind  of  bird  or  beast  ?  The  fairest 
hope  would  go  out  of  my  life,  and  I  should  have 
little  or  nothing  left  worth  living  for.  I  must  con- 
fess that  my  curiosity  often  tormented  me  beyond 
endurance,  but,  as  I  said,  I  could  never  muster 
courage  enough  either  to  conquer  it  or  to  yield  to 
it.  Thus,  when  at  the  end  of  a  week  I  was  allowed 
to  sit  up,  I  knew  no  more  about  Mabel's  real  char- 
acter than  I  had  known  before.  I  saw  that  she 
was  patient,  kind-hearted,  sweet-tempered, — that 
her  comings  and  goings  were  as  quiet  and  pleasant 
as  those  of  the  sunlight  which  now  stole  in  unhin- 
dered and  again  vanished  through  the  uncurtained 


Mabel  and  I.  201 

windows.  And,  after  all,  had  I  not  known  that 
always  ?  One  thing,  however,  I  now  knew  better 
than  before,  and  that  was  that  I  never  could  love 
anybody  as  I  loved  Mabel,  and  that  I  hoped  some 
time  to  make  her  my  wife. 

A  couple  of  days  elapsed,  and  then  I  was  per- 
mitted to  return  to  my  own  lonely  rooms.  And 
very  dreary  and  desolate  did  they  seem  to  me  after  * 
the  pleasant  days  I  had  spent,  playing  sick,  with 
Mabel  and  the  professor.  I  did  try  once  or  twice 
the  effect  of  my  spectacles  on  some  of  my  friends, 
and  always  the  result  was  astonishing.  Once  I  put 
them  on  in  church,  and  the  minister,  who  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  very  pious  man,  suddenly 
stood  before  me  as  a  huge  fox  in  gown  and  bands. 
His  voice  sounded  like  a  sort  of  a  bark,  and  his  long 
snout  opened  and  shut  again  in  such  a  funny  fash- 
ion that  I  came  near  laughing  aloud.  But,  fortu- 
nately, I  checked  myself  and  looked  for  a  moment 
at  a  couple  of  old  maids  in  the  pew  opposite.  And, 
whether  you  will  believe  me  or  not,  they  looked 
exactly  like  two  dressed-up  magpies,  while  the 
stout  old  gentleman  next  to  them  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  sedate  and  pious  turkey-cock.  As  he 
took  out  his  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose — I 
mean  his  bill — the  laughter  again  came  over  me, 
and  I  had  to  stoop  down  in  the' pew  and  smother 
my  merriment.  An  old  chum  of  mine,  who  was  a 
famous  sportsman  and  a  great  favorite  with  the 
9* 


2O2  Mabel  and  I. 

ladies,  turned  out  to  be  a  bull-dog,  and  as  he  ad- 
justed his  neck-tie  and  pulled  up  his  collar  around 
his  thick,  hairy  neck,  I  had  once  more  to  hide  my 
face  in  order  to  preserve  my  gravity. 

I  am  afraid,  if  I  had  gone  on  with  my  observa- 
tions, I  should  have  lost  my  faith  in  many  a  man 
and  woman  whom  I  had  previously  trusted  and 
admired,  for  they  were  probably  not  all  as  good 
and  amiable  as  they  appeared.  However,  I  could 
not  help  asking  myself,  as  Mabel  had  done,  what 
good  such  a  knowledge  would,  in  the  end,  do  me. 
Was  it  not  better  to  believe  everybody  good,  until 
convinced  to  the  contrary,  than  to  distrust  every- 
body and  by  my  suspicion  do  injustice  to  those 
who  were  really  better  than  they  seemed  ?  After 
all,  I  thought,  these  spectacles  are  making  me 
morbid  and  suspicious  ;  they  are  a  dangerous  and 
useless  thing  to  possess.  I  will  return  them  to 
their  real  owner. 

This,  then,  was  my  determination.  A  little  before 
sunset  I  started  for  the  gorge,  and  on  my  way  I 
met  a  little  girl  playing  with  pebbles  at  the  road- 
side. My  curiosity  once  more  possessed  me.  I 
put  on  the  gnome's  spectacles  and  gazed  intently 
at  the  child.  Strange  to  say  no  transformation 
occurred.  I  took  off  the  glasses,  rubbed  them 
with  my  handkerchief,  and  put  them  on  once  more. 
The  child  still  remained  what  it  seemed — a  child  ; 
not  a  feature  was  changed.  Here,  then,  was  really 


Mabel  and  /.  203 

a  creature  that  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  it 
seemed.  For  some  inconceivable  reason  the  tears 
started  to  my  eyes  ;  I  took  the  little  girl  up  in  my 
arms  and  kissed  her.  My  thoughts  then  naturally 
turned  to  Mabel  ;  I  knew  in  the  depth  of  my  heart 
that  she,  too,  would  have  remained  unchanged. 
What  could  she  be  that  was  better  than  her  own 
sweet  self — the  pure,  the  beautiful,  the  blessed 
Mabel  ? 

When  the  sun  was  well  set,  I  sat  down  under  the 
same  hemlock-tree  where  I  had  first  met  the  gnome. 
After  half  an  hour's  waiting  I  again  saw  the  lights 
advancing  over  the  ground,  struck  at  random  at 
one  of  them  and  the  small  man  was  once  more  visi- 
ble. I  did  not  seize  his  cap,  however,  but  addressed 
him  in  this  manner  : 

"  Do  you  know,  you  curious  Old  World  sprite, 
what  scrapes  your,  detestable  spectacles  brought 
me  into  ?  Here  they  are.  Take  them  back.  I 
don't  want  to  see  them  again  as  long  as  I  live." 

In  the  next  moment  I  saw  the  precious  glasses 
in  the  gnome's  hand,  a  broad,  malicious  grin  dis- 
torted his  features,  and  before  I  could  say  another 
word,  he  had  snatched  up  his  cap  and  vanished. 

A  few  days  later,  Mabel,  with  her  sweet-brier 
dress  on,  was  again  walking  at  my  side  along  the 
stream  in  the  gorge,  and  somehow  our  footsteps 
led  us  to  the  old  willow-tree  where  we  had  had  our 
talk  about  the  German  gnomes  and  fairies. 


204  Mabel  and  I. 

"  Suppose,  Jamie,"  said  Mabel,  as  we  seated 
ourselves  on  the  grass,  "  that  a  good  fairy  should 
come  to  you  and  tell  you  that  your  highest  wish 
should  be  fulfilled.  What  would  you  then  ask  ?  " 

"  I  would  ask,"  cried  I,  seizing  Mabel's  hand, 
"  that  she  would  give  me  a  good  little  wife,  with 
blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  whose  name  should  be 
Mabel." 

Mabel  blushed  crimson  and  turned  her  face  away 
from  me  to  hide  her  confusion. 

"  You  would  not  wish  to  see  things  as  they  are, 
then,"  whispered  she,  while  the  sweetest  smile 
stole  over  her  blushing  face. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  exclaimed  I.  "  But  what  would 
you  ask,  Mabel  ?  " 

"  I,"  answered  she,  "  would  ask  the  fairy  to  give 
me  a  husband  who  loved  me  well,  if — if  his  name 
was — Jamie." 

A  little  before  supper-time  we  both  stole  on  tip- 
toe into  the  professor's  study.  He  was  writing,  as 
usual,  and  did  not  notice  us.  Mabel  went  up  to 
his  chair  from  behind  and  gently  put  her  hands 
over  his  eyes,  and  asked  if  he  could  guess  who  it 
was.  He,  of  course,  guessed  all  the  names  he 
could  think  of,  except  the  right  one. 

"  Papa,"  said  Mabel,  at  last,  restoring  to  him 
once  more  the  use  of  his  eyes,  "  Jamie  and  I  have 
something  we  want  to  tell  you." 

"  And  what  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  the  profes- 


Mabel  and  L 

sor,  turning  round  on  his  chair,  and  staring  at  us 
as  if  he  expected  something  extraordinary. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  it  aloud,"  said  Mabel.  "  I 
want  to  whisper  it." 

"  And  I,  too,"  echoed  I. 

And  so  we  both  put  our  mouths,  one  on  each 
side,  to  the  professor's  ears,  and  whispered. 

"But,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  as  soon  as  he 
could  recover  his  breath,  "  you  must  bear  in  mind 
that  life  is  not  a  play, — that — that  life  is  not  what 
it  seems " 

"  No,  but  Mabel  is"  said  I. 

"  Is,— is  what?  " 

"  What  she  seems,"  cried  I. 

And  then  we  both  laughed  ;  and  the  professor 
kissed  Mabel,  shook  my  hand,  and  at  last  all 
laughed. 


HOW  MR.  STORM  MET  HIS  DESTINY. 


I. 

Hut'  dich  vor  Magdelein, 
Sohnelein,  Sbhnelein. — HEINE. 

I  DO  not  know  why  people  always  spoke  of  my 
friend  Edmund  Storm  as  a  confirmed  bachelor, 
considering  the  fact  that  he  was  not  far  on  the 
shady  side  of  thirty.  It  is  true,  he  looked  consid- 
erably older,  and  had  to  all  appearances  entered 
that  bloomless  and  sapless  period  which  with  wo- 
men is  called  "  uncertain  age."  Nevertheless,  I 
had  a  private  conviction  that  Storm  might  some 
fine  day  shed  this  dry  and  shrunken  chrysalis,  and 
emerge  in  some  brilliant  and  unexpected  form.  I 
cannot  imagine  what  ground  I  had  for  such  a  be- 
lief;  I  only  know  that  I  always  felt  called  upon  to 
combat  the  common  illusion  that  he  was  by  nature 
and  temperament  set  apart  for  eternal  celibacy,  or 
even  that  he  had  ceased  to  be  agitated  by  matri- 
monial aspirations.  I  dimly  felt  that  there  was  a 
sort  of  refined  cruelty  in  thus  excluding  a  man  from 
the  common  lot  of  the  race  ;  men  often  have  pity 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     207 

but  seldom  love  for  those  who  either  from  eccen- 
tricity or  peculiar  excellence  separate  themselves 
from  the  broad,  warm  current  of  human  life,  hav- 
ing no  part  in  the  errors,  ideals,  and  aspirations  of 
their  more  commonplace  brethren.  Even  a  slight 
deviation  from  the  physical  type  of  common  man- 
hood and  womanhood,  as  for  instance,  the  posses- 
sion of  a  sixth  toe  or  finger,  would  in  the  eyes  of 
the  multitude  go  far  toward  making  a  man  morally 
objectionable.  It  was,  perhaps,  because  I  wished 
to  save  my  friend  Storm  from  this  unenviable  lot 
that  I  always  contended  that  he  was  yet  a  promis- 
ing candidate  for  matrimony. 

Edmund  Storm  was  a  Norseman  by  birth,  but 
had  emigrated  some  five  or  six  years  before  I  made 
his  acquaintance.  Our  first  meeting  was  brought 
about  in  rather  a  singular  manner.  I  had  written 
an  article  in  one  of  our  leading  newspapers,  com- 
menting upon  the  characteristics  of  our  Scandina- 
vian immigrants  and  indulging  some  fine  theories, 
highly  eulogistic  of  the  women  of  my  native  land. 
A  few  days  after  the  publication  of  this  article,  my 
pride  was  seriously  shocked  by  the  receipt  of  a 
letter  which  told  me  in  almost  so  many  words  that 
I  was  a  conceited  fool,  with  opinions  worthy  of  a 
bedlam.  The  writer,  who  professed  to  be  better 
informed,  added  his  name  and  address,  and  invited 
me  to  call  upon  him  at  a  specified  hour,  promising 
to  furnish  me  with  valuable  material  for  future 


208     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

treatises  on  the  same  subject.  My  curiosity  was 
naturally  piqued,  and,  swallowing  my  humiliation, 
I  determined  to  obey  the  summons.  I  found  some 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  my  unknown  critic 
resided  in  a  very  unfashionable  neighborhood,  and 
mentally  put  him  down  as  one  of  those  half-civil- 
ized boors  whom  the  first  breath  of  our  republican 
air  had  inflated  a  good  deal  beyond  their  natural 
dimensions.  I  was  therefore  somewhat  discon- 
certed when,  after  having  climbed  half  a  dozen 
long  staircases,  I  was  confronted  with  a  pale,  thin 
man,  of  calm,  gentlemanly  bearing,  with  the  un- 
mistakable stamp  of  culture  upon  his  brow.  He 
shook  my  hand  with  grave  politeness,  and  pointing 
to  a  huge  arm-chair  of  antediluvian  make,  invited 
me  to  be  seated.  The  large,  low-ceiled  room  was 
filled  with  furniture  of  the  most  fantastic  styles  ; — 
tables  and  chairs  with  twisted  legs  and  scrolls  of 
tarnished  gilt  ;  a  solid-looking,  elaborately  carved 
chiffonier,  exhibiting  Adam  and  Eve  in  airy  dis- 
habille, sowing  the  seeds  of  mischief  for  an  unborn 
world  ;  a  long  mirror  in  broad  gilt  frame  of  the 
most  deliciously  quaint  rococo,  calling  up  the 
images  of  slim,  long-waisted  ladies  and  powdered 
gentlemen  with  wristbands  of  ancient  lace,  silk 
stockings,  and  gorgeous  coats,  h  la  Louis  XV. 
The  very  air  seemed  to  be  filled  with  the  vague 
musty  odor  of  by-gone  times,  and  the  impression 
grew  upon  me  that  I  had  unawares  stepped  into  a 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     209 

lumber-room,  where  the  eighteenth  century  was 
stowed  away  for  safe-keeping. 

"  You  see  I  have  a  weakness  for  old  furniture," 
explained  my  host,  while  his  rigid  features  labored 
for  an  instant  to  adjust  themselves  into  something 
resembling  a  smile.  I  imagined  I  could  hear  them 
creaking  faintly  in  the  effort  like  tissue-paper 
when  crumpled  by  an  unwary  hand.  I  almost  re- 
gretted my  rudeness  in  having  subjected  him  to 
the  effort.  I  noticed  that  he  spoke  with  a  slow, 
laborious  enunciation,  as  if  he  were  fashioning  the 
words  carefully  in  his  mouth  before  making  up  his 
mind  to  emit  them.  His  thin,  flexible  lips  seemed 
admirably  adapted  for  this  purpose. 

"  It  is  the  only  luxury  I  allow  myself,"  he  con- 
tinued, seeing  that  I  was  yet  ill  at  ease.  "  My 
assortment,  as  you  will  observe,  is  as  yet  a  very 
miscellaneous  one,  and  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever 
shall  be  able  to  complete  it." 

"  You  are  a  fortunate  man,"  remarked  I,  "  who 
can'afford  to  indulge  such  expensive  tastes." 

"  Expensive,"  he  repeated  musingly,  as  if  that 
idea  had  never  until  then  occurred  to  him.  "  You 
are  quite  mistaken.  Expensive,  as  I  understand 
the  term,  is  not  that  which  has  a  high  intrinsic 
worth,  but  that  which  can  only  be  procured  at  a 
price  considerably  above  its  real  value.  In  this 
sense,  a  hobby  is  not  an  expensive  thing.  It  is,  as 
I  regard  it,  one  of  the  safest  investments  life  has  to 


2io     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

offer.  An  unambitious  man  like  myself,  without 
a  hobby,  would  necessarily  be  either  an  idler  or  a 
knave.  And  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
The  truth  is,  my  life  was  very  poorly  furnished  at 
the  start,  and  I  have  been  laboring  ever  since  to 
supply  the  deficiency.  I  am  one  of  those  crude, 
colorless,  superfluous  products  which  Nature 
throws  off  with  listless  ease  in  her  leisure  moments 
when  her  thoughts  are  wandering  and  her  strength 
has  been  exhausted  by  some  great  and  noble  effort." 
Mr.  Storm  uttered  these  extraordinary  senti- 
ments, not  with  a  careless  toss  of  the  head,  and 
loud  demonstrative  ardor,  but  with  a  grave,  meas- 
ured intonation,  as  if  he  were  reciting  from  some 
tedious  moral  book  recommended  by  ministers  of 
the  gospel  and  fathers  of  families.  His  long,  dry 
face,  with  its  perpendicular  wrinkles,  and  the  whole 
absurd  proportion  between  his  longitude  and  lati- 
tude, suggested  to  me  the  idea  that  Nature  had 
originally  made  him  short  and  stout,  and  then, 
having  suddenly  changed  her  mind,  had  subjected 
him  to  a  prolonged  process  of  stretching  in  order 
to  adapt  him  to  the  altered  type.  I  had  no  doubt 
that  if  I  could  see  those  parts  of  his  body  which 
were  now  covered,  they  would  show  by  longitudi- 
nal wrinkles  the  effects  of  this  hypothetical  stretch- 
ing. His  features  in  their  original  shape  may  have 
been  handsome,  although  I  am  inclined  to  doubt 
it  ;  there  were  glimpses  of  fine  intentions  in  them, 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.      211 

but,  as  a  whole,  he  was  right  in  pronouncing  them 
rather  a  second-rate  piece  of  workmanship.  His 
nose  was  thin,  sharp,  and  aquiline,  and  the  bone 
seemed  to  exert  a  severe  straui  upon  the  epidermis, 
which  was  stretched  over  the  projecting  bridge 
with  the  tensity  of  a  drum-head.  I  will  not  reveal 
what  an  unpleasant  possibility  this  niggardliness  on 
Nature's  part  suggested  to  me.  His  eyes  (the  only 
feature  in  him  which  was  distinctly  Norse)  were  of 
a  warm  gray  tint,  and  expressed  frank  severity. 
You  saw  at  once  that,  whatever  his  eccentricities 
might  be,  here  was  a  Norseman  in  whom  there  was 
no  guile.  It  was  these  fine  Norse  eyes  which  at 
once  prepossessed  me  in  Storm's  favor.  They  fur- 
nished me  approximately  with  the  key-note  to  his 
character ;  I  knew  that  God  did  not  expend  such 
eyes  upon  any  but  the  rarest  natures.  Storm's  taste 
for  old  furniture  was  no  longer  a  mystery  ;  in  fact,  I 
began  to  suspect  that  there  lurked  a  fantastic  streak 
of  some  warm,  deep-tinged  hue  somewhere  in  his 
bony  composition,  and  my  fingers  began  to  itch 
with  the  desire  to  make  a  psychological  autopsy. 

"Apropos  of  crude  workmanship,"  began  my 
host  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  been  ex- 
amining his  long  fingers  with  an  air  of  criticism 
and  doubtful  approbation.  "You  know  why  I 
wrote  to  you  ?  " 

I  confessed  that  I  was  unable  to  guess  his 
motive. 


212     How  Mr.  Storm  'met  his  Dsstiny. 

"  Well,  then,  listen  to  me.  Your  article  was 
written  with  a  good  deal  of  youthful  power  ;  but 
it  was  thoroughly  false.  You  spoke  of  what  you 
did  not  know.  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  guard 
you  from  future  errors,  especially  as  I  felt  that  you 
were  a  young  man  standing  upon  the  threshold  of 
life,  about  to  enter  upon  a  career  of  great  mischief 
or  great  usefulness.  Then  you  are  of  my  own 
blood — but  there  is  no  need  of  apologies.  You 
have  come,  as  I  thought  you  would." 

"  It  was  especially  «iy  sentiments  regarding 
Norsewomen,  I  believe,  that  you  objected  to,"  I 
said  hesitatingly  ;  for  in  spite  of  his  fine  eyes,  my 
friend  still  impressed  me  as  an  unknown  quantity, 
and  I  mentally  labelled  him  x,  and  determined  by 
slow  degrees  to  solve  his  equation. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  your  sentiments  about 
Norsewomen,  or  rather  about  women  in  general. 
They  are  made  very  much  of  the  same  stuff  the 
world  over.  I  do  not  mind  telling  you  that  I  speak 
from  bitter  experience,  and  my  words  ought, 
therefore,  to  have  the  more  weight." 

"  Your  experience  must  have  been  very  wide," 
I  answered  by  way  of  pleasantry,  "  since,  as  you- 
hint,  it  includes  the  whole  world." 

He  stared  for  a  moment,  did  not  respond  to  my 
smile,  but  continued  in  the  same  imperturbable 
monotone  : 

"  When  God  abstracted  that  seventh  or  ninth 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     213 

« 

rib  from  Adam,  and  fashioned  a  woman  of  it,  the 
result  was,  cntrc  nous,  nothing  to  boast  of.  I  have 
never  ceased  to  regret  that  Adam  did  not  wake  up 
in  time  to  thwart  that  hazardous  experiment.  It 
may  have  been  necessary  to  introduce  some  tragic 
element  into  our -lives,  and  if  that  was  the  inten- 
tion, I  admit  that  the  means  were  ingenious.  To 
my  mind  the  only  hope  of  salvation  for  the  human 
race  lies  in  its  gradual  emancipation  from  that 
baleful  passion  which  draws  men  and  women  so 
irresistibly  to  each  other.  Love  and  reason  in  a 
well-regulated  human  being,  form  at  best  an  armed 
neutrality,  but  can  never  cordially  co-operate.  But 
few  men  arrive  in  this  life  at  this  ideal  state,  and 
women  never.  As  it  is  now,  our  best  energies  are 
wasted  in  vain  endeavors  to  solve  the  matrimonial 
problem  at  the  very  time  when  our  vitality  is  great- 
est and  our  strength  might  be  expended  with  the 
best  effect  in  the  service  of  the  race,  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  science,  art,  or  industry." 

"  But  would  you  then  abolish  marriage  ?  "  I  ven- 
tured to  ask.  "That  would  mean,  as  I  understand 
it,  to  abolish  the  race  itself." 

"No,"  he  answered  calmly.  "In  my  ideal 
state,  marriage  should  be  tolerated  ;  but  it  should 
be  regulated  by  the  government,  with  a  total  dis- 
regard of  individual  preferences,  and  with  a  sole 
view  to  the  physical  and  intellectual  improvement 
of  the  race.  There  should  be  a  permanent  govern- 


214     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

ment  commission  appointed,  say  one  in  each  State, 
consisting  of  the  most  prominent  scientists  and 
moral  teachers.  No  marriage  should  be  legal 
without  being  approved  and  confirmed  by  them. 
Marriage,  as  it  is  at  present,  is,  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten,  an  unqualified  evil ;  as  Schopenhauer  puts 
it,  it  halves  our  joys  and  doubles  our  sorrows  — 

"And  triples  our  expenses,"  I  prompted,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  And  triples  our  expenses,"  he  repeated  grave- 
ly. "  Talk  about  finding  your  affinity  and  all  that 
sort  of  stuff!  Supposing  the  world  to  be  a  huge 
bag,  as  in  reality  it  is  ;  then  take  several  hundred 
million  blocks,  representing  human  beings,  and 
label  each  one  by  pairs,  giving  them  a  correspond- 
ing mark  and  color.  Then  shake  the  whole  bag 
violently,  and  you  will  admit  that  the  chances  of 
an  encounter  between  the  two  with  the  same  label 
are  extremely  slim.  It  is  just  so  with  marriage. 
It  is  all  chance — a  heartless,  aimless,  and  cruel 
lottery.  There  are  more  valuable  human  lives 
wrecked  every  hour  of  the  day  in  this  dangerous 
game  than  by  all  the  vices  that  barbarism  or  civili- 
zation has  ever  invented." 

I  hazarded  some  feeble  remonstrance  against 
these  revolutionary  heresies  (as  I  conceived  them 
to  be),  but  my  opponent  met  me  on  all  sides  with 
his  inflexible  logic.  We  spent  several  hours  to- 
gether without  at  all  approaching  an  agreement, 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     2 1 5 

and  finally  parted  with  the  promise  to  dine 
together  and  resume  the  discussion  the  next 
day. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  acquaintance  with 
the  pessimist,  Edmund  Storm. 


II. 

"  Freundschaft,  Liebe,  Stein  der  Weisen, 
Diese  Dreie  hort'  ich  preisen, 
Und  ich  pries  und  suchte  sie, 
Aber  ach  !  ich  fand  sie  nie." — HEINE. 

DURING  the  next  two  years  there  was  never  a 
week,  and  seldom  a  day,  when  I  did  not  see  Storm. 
We  lunched  together  at  a  much-frequented  restau- 
rant not  far  from  Wall  street,  and  my  friend's  sar- 
castic epigrams  would  do  much  to  reconcile  me  to 
my  temperance  habits  by  supplying  in  a  more 
ethereal  form  the  stimulants  with  which  others 
strove  to  facilitate  or  to  ruin  their  digestions. 

"  Existence  is  even  at  best  a  doubtful  boon,"  he 
would  say  while  he  dissected  his  beefsteak  with  the 
seriousness  of  a  scientific  observer.  "  A  man's 
philosophy  is  regulated  by  his  stomach.  No 
amount  of  stoicism  can  reconcile  a  man  to  dyspep- 
sia. If  our  nationality  were  not  by  nature  endowed 
with  the  digestion  of  a  boa-constrictor,  I  should 
seriously  consider  the  propriety  of  vanishing  into 
the  Nirvana." 


216     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

I  often  wondered  what  could  be  the  secret  of 
Storm's  liking  for  me  ;  for  that  he  liked  me,  in  his 
own  lugubrious  fashion,  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
As  for  myself,  I  never  could  determine  how  far  I 
reciprocated  his  feeling.  I  should  hardly  say  that 
I  loved  him,  but  his  talk  fascinated  me,  and  it  al- 
ways irritated  me  to  hear  any  one  speak  ill  of  him. 
He  was  the  very  opposite  of  what  the  world  calls 
"  a  good  fellow  ;  "  he  did  not  slap  you  on  the 
shoulder  and  salute  you  with  a  "  Hallo,  old  boy  !" 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  would  have 
promptly  resented  any  undue  familiarity.  He  was 
a  man  of  the  most  exact  habits,  painfully  conscien- 
tious in  all  his  dealings,  and  absolutely  devoid  of 
vices,  unless,  indeed,  his  extravagance  in  the  pur- 
chase of  old  furniture  might  be  classed  under  that 
head.  To  people  of  slipshod  habits,  his  painstak- 
ing exactness  was  of  course  highly  exasperating, 
and  I  often  myself  felt  that  he  was  in  need  of  a  re- 
deeming vice.  If  I  could  have  induced  him  to 
smoke,  take  snuff,  or  indulge  in  a  little  innocent 
gambling,  I  believe  it  would  have  given  me  a  good 
deal  of  satisfaction.  Once,  I  remember,  I  exerted 
myself  to  the  utmost  to  beguile  him  into  taking  a 
humorous  view  of  a  mendacious  tramp,  who,  after 
having  treated  us  to  a  highly  pathetic  autobi- 
ography, importuned  us  for  a  quarter.  But  no, 
Storm  could  see  nothing  but  the  moral  hideous- 
ness  of  the  man,  lectured  him  severely,  and  would 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     217 

have  sent  him  away  unrewarded,  if  I  had  not  tem- 
porarily suspended  my  principles. 

During  our  continued  intercourse,  I  naturally 
learned  a  good  deal  about  my  friend's  previous 
life  and  occupation.  He  was  of  very  good  family, 
had  enjoyed  an  excellent  university  education,  and 
had  the  finest  prospects  of  a  prosperous  career  at 
home,  when,  as  far  as  I  could  ascertain,  he  took  a 
sudden  freak  to  emigrate.  He  had  inherited  a 
modest  fortune,  and  now  maintained  himself  as 
cashier  in  a  large  tea  importing  house  in  the  city. 
He  read  the  newspapers  diligently,  apparently  witli  a 
view  to  convincing  himself  of  the  universal  wretched- 
ness of  mankind  in  general  and  the  American  peo- 
ple in  particular,  had  a  profound  contempt  for  ambi- 
tion of  every  sort,  believed  nothing  that  life  could 
offer  worthy  of  an  effort,  except — old  furniture. 

In  the  autumn  of  187-  he  was  taken  violently 
ill  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  I  naturally 
devoted  every  evening  to  him  that  I  could  spare 
from  my  work.  He  suffered  acutely,  *but  was  per- 
fectly calm  and  hardly  ever  moved  a  muscle. 

"  I  seldom  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  whining," 
he  said  to  me  once,  as  I  was  seated  at  his  bedside. 
"  But,  if  I  should  die,  as  I  believe  I  shall,  it  would 
be  a  pity  if  the  lesson  of  my  life  should  be  lost  to 
humanity.  It  is  the  only  valuable  thing  I  leave 
behind  me,  except,  perhaps,  my  furniture,  which  I 
bequeath  to  you." 


218     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

He  lay  for  a  while  looking  with  grave  criticism 
at  his  long,  lean  fingers,  and  then  told  me  the  fol- 
lowing story,  of  which  I  shall  give  a  brief  resume". 

Some  ten  years  ago,  while  he  was  yet  in  the 
university,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
young  girl,  Emily  Gerstad,  the  daughter  of  a 
widow  in  whose  house  he  lived.  She  was  a  wild, 
unruly  thing,  full  of  coquettish  airs,  frivolous  as  a 
kitten,  but  for  all  that,  a  phenomenon  of  most  ab- 
sorbing interest.  She  was  a  blonde  of  the  purest 
Northern  type,  with  a  magnificent  wealth  of  thick 
curly  hair  and  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  which  seemed 
capable  of  expressing  the  very  finest  things  that 
God  ever  deposited  in  a  woman's  nature.  It  was 
useless  to  disapprove  of  her,  and  to  argue  with  her 
on  the  error  of  her  ways  was  a  waste  of  breath  : 
her  moral  nature  was  too  fatally  flexible.  She 
could  assume  with  astonishing  facility  a  hundred 
different  attitudes  on  the  same  question,  and  acted 
the  penitent,, the  indifferent,  the.  defiant,  with  such 
a  perfection  of  art  as  really  to  deceive  herself. 
And  in  spite  of  all  this,  poor  Storm  soon  found 
that  she  had  wound  herself  so  closely  about  his 
heart,  that  the  process  of  unwinding,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  would  require  greater  strength  and  a 
sterner  philosophy  than  he  believed  himself  tojms- 
sess.  He  had  always  been  shy  of  women,  not  be- 
cause he  distrusted  them,  but  because  he  was  pain- 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     219 

fully  conscious  of  being,  in  point  of  physical  finish, 
a  second-rate  article,  a  bungling  piece  of  work, 
and  naturally  felt  his  disadvantages  more  keenly  in 
the  presence  of  those  upon  whom  Nature  had  ex- 
pended all  her  best  art.  He  was,  according  to  his 
own  assertion,  an  idealist  by  temperament,  and 
had  kept  a  sacred  chamber  in  his  heart  where  the 
vestal  fire  burned  with  a  pure  flame.  Now  the 
deepest  strata  of  his  being  were  stirred,  and  he 
loved  with  an  overwhelming  fervor  and  intensity 
which  fairly  frightened  him.  In  a  moment  of  ab- 
ject despair  he  proposed  to  Emily,  and  to  his  sur- 
prise was  accepted.  And  -what  was  more,  it  was 
no  comedy  on  her  part ;  he  even  now  believed  that 
she  really  loved  him.  All  the  turbulent  forces  of 
her  being  were  toned  down  to  a  beautiful,  woman- 
ly tenderness.  She  clung  to  him  with  a  passionate 
devotion  which  seemed  to  be  no  less  of  a  surprise 
to  herself  than  it  was  to  him — clung  to  his  stronger 
self,  perhaps,  as  a  refuge  from  her  own  wayward- 
ness, listened  with  a  sweet,  shame-faced  happiness 
to  his  bright  plans  for  their  common  future,  and 
shared  his  pleasures  and  his  light  disappointments 
with  an  ardor  and  an  ever  ready  sympathy,  as  if  her 
whole  previous  life  had  been  an  education  for  this 
one  end — to  be  a  perfect  wife  and  to  be  his  wife. 

But  alas,  their  happiness  was  of  brief  duration. 
At  the  end  of  a  year  he  had  finished  his  legal 
studies,  and  passed  a  brilliant  examination.  An 


220     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

excellent  situation  was  obtained  for  him  in  a  small 
town  on  the  sea-coast,  whither  he  removed  and  be- 
gan to  prepare  for  the  foundation  of  his  home.  It 
was  here  he  contracted  his  taste  for  quaint  furni- 
ture, all  that  was  now  left  to  him  of  his  happiness 
— nay,  of  his  life.  Suddenly,  at  the  end  of  eight 
months,  she  ceased  writing  to  him — a  fact  which, 
after  all,  argued  well  for  her  sincerity  ;  full  of  ap- 
prehension, he  hastened  to  the  capital  and  found 
her  engaged  to  a  young  lieutenant, — a  dashing, 
hare-brained  fellow,  covered  all  over  with  gilt  em- 
broidery, undeniably  handsome,  but  otherwise  of 
very  little  worth.  At  least  that  was  Storm's  im- 
pression of  him  ;  he  may  have  done  him  injustice, 
he  added,  with  his  usual  conscientiousness.  A  man 
who  sees  the  whole  structure  of  his  life  tumbling 
down  over  his  head  is  not  apt  to  take  a  charitable 
view  of  the  author  of  the  ruin.  A  week  later. 
Storm  was  on  his  way  to  America, — that  was  the 
end  of  the  story. 

Yes,  if  my  friend  had  died,  according  to  his 
promise,  the  story  would  have  ended  here  ;  but, 
as  for  once,  he  broke  his  word,  I  am  obliged  to 
add  the  sequel.  I  noticed  that  for  some  time  after 
his  recovery  he  kept  shy  of  me.  As  he  afterward 
plainly  told  me,  he  felt  as  if  I  had  purloined  a  piece 
of  his  most  precious  private  property,  in  sharing 
a  grief  which  had  hitherto  been  his  own  exclusive 
treasure. 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     221 


m. 

Fiircht'  dich  nicht,  du  liebes  Kindchen, 
Vor  der  bosen  Geister  Macht ; 
Tag  und  Nacht,  du  liebes  Kindchen, 
Halten  Engel  bei  dir  Wacht. — HEINE. 

ONCE,  on  a  warm  moonlight  night  in  September, 
Storm  and  I  took  a  walk  in  the  Park.     The  nisrht 

o 

always  tuned  him  into  a  gentle  mood,  and  I  even 
suspect  that  he  had  some  sentiment  about  it.  The 
currents  of  life,  he  said,  then  ran  more  serenely, 
with  a  slower  and  healthier  pulse-beat ;  the  un- 
fathomable mysteries  of  life  crowded  in  upon  us  ; 
our  shallow  individualities  were  quenched,  and  our 
larger  human  traits  rose  nearer  to  the  surface.  The 
best  test  of  sympathy  was  a  night  walk  ;  two  per- 
sons who  then  jarred  upon  each  other  might  safely 
conclude  that  they  were  constitutionally  unsympa- 
thetic. He  had  known  silly  girls  who  in  moonlight 
were  sublime  ;  but  it  was  dangerous  to  build  one's 
hopes  of  happiness  upon  this  moonlight  sublimity. 
Just  as  all  complexions,  except  positive  black, 
were  fair  when  touched  by  the  radiance  of  the 
night,  so  all  shades  of  character,  except  downright 
wickedness,  borrowed  a  finer  human  tinge  under 
this  illusory  illumination.  Thus  ran  his  talk,  I 
throwing  in  the  necessary  expletives,  and  as  I  am 
neither  black  nor  absolutely  wicked,  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  I  appeared  to  good  advantage. 


222     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

"It  is  very  curious  about  women,"  he  broke 
forth  after  a  long  meditative  pause.  "  In  spite  of 
all  my  pondering  on  the  subject,  I  never  quite 
could  understand  the  secret  of  their  fascination. 
Their  goodness,  if  they  are  good,  is  usually  of  the 
quality  of  oatmeal,  and  when  they  are  bad  - 

"  '  They  are  horrid,' "  I  quoted  promptly. 

"  Amen,"  he  added  with  a  contented  chuckle. 
"  I  never  could  see  the  appropriateness  of  the 
Bible  precept  about  coveting  your  neighbor's  wife," 
he  resumed  after  another  brief  silence.  "  I,  for  my 
part,  never  found  my  neighbor's  wife  worth  covet- 
ing. But  I  will  admit  that  I  have,  in  a  few  in- 
stances, felt  inclined  to  covet  my  neighbor's  child. 
No  amount  of  pessimism  can  quite  fortify  a  man 
against  the  desire  to  have  children.  A  child  is  not 
always  a  '  thing  of  beauty,'  nor  is  it  apt  to  be  a 
'joy  for  ever'  ;  but  I  never  yet  met  the  man  who 
would  not  be  willing  to  take  his  chances.  It  is  a 
confounded  thing  that  the  paternal  instinct  is  so 
deeply  implanted,  even  in  such  a  piece  of  dried-up 
parchment  as  mysblf.  It  is  like  discovering  a 
warm,  live  vein  of  throbbing  blood  under  the 
shrivelled  skin  of  an  Egyptian  mummy." 

We  sauntered  on  for  more  than  an  hour,  now 
plunging  into  dense  masses  of  shadow,  now  again 
emerging  into  cool  pathways  of  light.  The  con- 
versation turned  on  various  topics,  all  of  which 
Storm  touched  with  a  kindlier  humor  than  was  his 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     223 

wont.  The  world  was  a  failure,  but  for  all  that,  it 
was  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  make  the  best  of  it 
as  it  was.  The  clock  in  some  neighboring  tower 
struck  ten  ;  we  took  a  street-car  and  rode  home. 
As  we  were  about  to  alight  (I  first,  and  Storm  fol- 
lowing closely  after  me),  I  noticed  a  woman  with  a 
wild,  frightened  face  hurrying  away  from  the  street- 
lamp  right  in  front  of  us.  My  friend,  owing  either 
to  his  near-sightedness,  or  his  preoccupation,  had 
evidently  not  observed  her.  We  climbed  the  long 
dimly  lighted  stairs  to  his  room,  and  both  stumbled 
at  the  door  against  a  large  basket. 

"That  detestable  washwoman!"  he  muttered. 
"  How  often  have  I  told  her  not  to  place  her  basket 
where  everybody  is  sure  to  run  into  it !  " 

He  opened  the  door  and  I  carried  the  basket  in- 
to the  room,  while  he  struck  a  match  and  lighted 
the  drop-light  on  the  table. 

"  Excuse  me  for  a  moment,"  he  went  on,  stoop- 
ing to  lift  the  cloth  which  covered  the  basket.  "  I 

want  to  count Gracious  heavens  !    what  is 

this  ?  "  he  cried  suddenly,  springing  up  as  if  he  had 
stepped  on  something  alive  ;  then  he  sank  down 
into  an  arm-chair,  and  sat  staring  vacantly  before 
him.  In  the  basket  lay  a  sleeping  infant,  apparent- 
ly about  eight  months  old.  As  soon  as  I  had  re- 
covered from  my  first  astonishment,  I  bent  down 
over  it  and  regarded  it  attentively.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful, healthy-looking  child, — not  a  mere  formless 


224     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

mass  of  fat  with  hastily  sketched  features,  as  babes 
of  that  age  are  apt  to  be.  Its  face  was  of  exquisite 
finish,  a  straight,  well-modelled  little  nose,  a  softly 
defined  dimpled  little  chin,  and  a  fresh,  finely 
curved  mouth,  through  which  the  even  breath 
came  and  went  with  a  quiet,  hardly  perceptible 
rhythm.  It  was  all  as  sweet,  harmonious,  and  ar- 
tistically perfect  as  a  Tennysonian  stanza.  The 
little  waif  won  my  heart  at  once,  and  it  was  a  severe 
test  of  my  self-denial  that  I  had  to  repress  my  de- 
sire to  kiss  it.  I  somehow  felt  that  my  friend 
ought  to  be  the  first  to  recognize  it  as  a  member 
of  his  household. 

"  Storm,"  I  said,  looking  up  at  his  pale,  vacant 
face.  "  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  covet  one's 
neighbor's  child.  But,  if  you  don't  adopt  this 
little  dumb  supplicant,  I  fear  you  will  tempt  me  to 
break  the  tenth  commandment.  I  believe  there  is 
a  clause  there  about  coveting  children." 

Storm  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  with  an  effort 
to  rouse  himself,  pushed  back  the  chair  and  knelt 
down  at  the  side  of  the  basket.  With  a  gentle 
movement  he  drew  off  the  cover  under  which  the 
child  slept,  and  discovered  on  its  bosom  a  letter 
which  he  eagerly  seized.  As  he  glanced  at  the 
direction  of  the  envelope,  his  face  underwent  a 
marvellous  change  ;  it  was  as  if  a  mask  had  sud- 
denly been  removed,  revealing  a  new  type  of 
warmer,  purer,  and  tenderer  manhood. 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     225 

The  letter  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAREST  EDMUND  : 

It  has  gone  all  wrong  with  me.  You  know  I  would  not  come  to 
you,  if  there  was  any  other  hope  left.  As  for  myself,  I  do  not  care 
what  becomes  of  me,  but  you  will  not  forsake  my  little  girl.  Will 
you,  dear  Edmund  ?  I  know  you  will  not.  I  promise  you,  I 
shall  never  claim  her  back.  She  shall  be  yours  always.  Her  name 
is  Ragna ;  she  was  born  February  25th,  and  was  christened  two 
months  later.  I  have  prayed  to  God  that  ske  may  bring  happiness 
into  your  life,  that  she  may  expiate  the  wrong  her  mother  did  you. 

I  was  not  married  until  five  years  after  you  left  me.  It  is  a 
great  sin  to  say  it,  but  I  always  hoped  that  you  would  come  back  to 
me.  I  did  not  know  then  how  great  my  wrong  was.  Now  I  know 
it  and  I  have  ceased  to  hope.  Do  not  try  to  find  me.  It  will  be 
useless.  I  shall  never  willingly  cross  your  path,  dear  Edmund.  I 
have  learned  that  happiness  never  comes  where  I  am ;  and  I  would 
not  darken  your  life  again, — no  I  would  not,  so  help  me  God  ! 
Only  forgive  me,  if  you  can,  and  do  not  say  anything  bad  about  me 
to  my  child — ah  !  what  a  horrible  thought  !  I  did  not  mean  to  ask 
you  that,  because  I  know  how  good  you  are.  I  am  so  wild  with 
strange  thoughts,  so  dazed  and  bewildered  that  I  do  not  know  what 
I  am  saying.  Farewell,  dear  Edmund. — Your, 

EMILY. 

If  you  should  decide  not  to  keep  my  little  girl  (as  I  do  not 
think  you  will),  send  a  line  addressed  E.  H.  H.,  to  the  personal 
column  in  the  '  N.  Y.  Herald.'  But  do  not  try  to  find  me.  I 
shall  answer  you  in  the  same  way  and  tell  you  where  to  send  the 
child.  E.  H." 

This  letter  was  not  shown  to  me  until  several 
years  after,  but  even  then  the  half  illegible  words, 
evidently  traced  with  a  trembling  hand,  the  path- 
etic abruptness  of  the  sentences,  sounding  like  the 
grief-stricken  cries  of  a  living  voice,  and  the  still 


226     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

visible  marks  of  tears  upon  the  paper,  made  an 
impression  upon  me  which  is  not  easily  forgotten. 

In  the  meanwhile  Storm,  having  read  and  re- 
read the  letter,  was  lifting  his  strangely  illumined 
eyes  to  the  ceiling. 

"  God  be  praised,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  whis- 
per. "  I  have  wronged  her,  too,  and  I  did  not 
know  it.  I  will  be  a  father  to  her  child." 

The  little  girl,  who  had  awaked,  without  signal- 
ling the  fact  in  the  usual  manner,  fixed  her  large, 
fawn-like  eyes  upon  him  in  peaceful  wonder.  He 
knelt  down  once  more,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  her  gravely  and  solemnly.  It  was  charming 
to  see  with  what  tender  awkwardness  he  held  her, 
as  if  she  were  some  precious  thing  made  of  frail 
stuff  that  might  easily  be  broken.  My  curiosity 
had  already  prompted  me  to  examine  the  basket, 
which  contained  a  variety  of  clean,  tiny  articles, — 
linen,  stockings,  a  rattle  with  the  distinct  impress 
of  its  nationality,  and  several  neatly  folded  dresses, 
among  which  a  long,  white,  elaborately  embroi- 
dered one,  marked  by  a  slip  of  paper  as  "  Baby's 
Christening  Robe." 

I  will  not  reproduce  the  long  and  serious  con- 
sultation which  followed  ;  be  it  sufficient  to  chroni- 
cle the  result.  I  hastened  homeward,  and  had  my 
landlady,  Mrs.  Harrison,  roused  from  her  midnight 
slumbers  ;  she  was,  as  I  knew,  a  woman  of  strong 
maternal  instincts,  who  was  fond  of  referring  to  her 


flow  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     227 

experience  in  that  line, — a  woman  to  whom  your 
thought  would  naturally  revert  in  embarrassing  cir- 
cumstances. She  responded  promptly  and  eagerly 
to  my  appeal  ;  the  situation  evidently  roused  all 
the  latent  romance  of  her  nature,  and  afforded  her 
no  small  satisfaction.  She  spent  a  half  hour  in 
privacy  with  the  baby,  who  re-appeared  fresh  and 
beaming  in  a  sort  of  sacerdotal  Norse  night-habit 
which  was  a  miracle  of  neatness. 

"  Bless  her  little  heart,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Harri- 
son, as  the  small  fat  hands  persisted  in  pulling  her 
already  demoralized  side  curls.  "  She  certainly 
knows  me  ;  "  then  in  an  aside  to  Storm  :  "  The 
mother,  whoever  she  may  be,  sir,  is  a  lady.  I 
never  seed  finer  linen  as  long  as  I  lived  ;  and  every 
single  blessed  piece  is  embroidered  with  two  let- 
ters which  I  reckon  means  the  name  of  the  child." 

Storm  bowed  his  head  silently  and  sighed.  But 
when  the  baby,  after  having  rather  indifferently 
submitted  to  a  caress  from  me,  stretched  out  its 
arms  to  him  and  consented  with  great  good  humor 
to  a  final  good-night  kiss,  large  tears  rolled  down 
over  his  cheeks,  while  he  smiled,  as  I  thought  only 
the  angels  could  smile. 

I  am  obliged  to  add  before  the  curtain  is  dropped 
upon  this  nocturnal  drama,  that  my  friend  was 
guilty  of  an  astonishing  piece  of  Vandalism.  When 
my  landlady  had  deposited  the  sleeping  child  in 
his  large,  exquisitely  carved  and  canopied  bed 


228     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destijiy. 

(which,  as  he  declared,  made  him  feel  as  if  a  hun- 
dred departed  grandees  were  his  bed-fellows),  we 
both  went  in  to  have  a  final  view  of  our  little 
foundling.  As  we  stood  there,  clasping  each 
other's  hands  in  silence,  Storm  suddenly  fixed  his 
eyes  with  a  savage  glare  upon  one  of  the  bed-posts, 
which  contained  a  tile  of  porcelain,  representing 
Joseph  leaving  his  garment  in  the  hand  of  Potiphar's 
wife ;  on  the  post  opposite  was  seen  Samson 
sheared  of  his  glory  and  Delilah  fleeing  through 
the  opened  door  with  his  seven  locks  in  her  hand  ; 
a  third  represented  Jezebel  being  precipitated  from 
a  third-story  window,  and  the  subject  of  the  fourth 
I  have  forgotten.  It  was  a  remnant  of  the  not 
always  delicate  humor  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
My  friend,  with  a  fierce  disgust,  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  his  former  mood,  pulled  a  knife  from 
his  pocket,  and  deliberately  proceeded  to  demol- 
ish the  precious  tiles.  When  he  had  succeeded 
in  breaking  out  the  last,  he  turned  to  me  and 
said  : 

"  I  have  been  an  atrocious  fool.  It  is  high  time 
I  should  get  to  know  it." 

A  week  later  I  found  four  new  tiles  with  designs 
of  Fra  Angelico's  angels  installed  in  the  places  of 
the  reprobate  Biblical  women. 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     229 


IV. 

"  Wer  zum  ersten  Male  liebt, 
Sei  es  auch  gliicklos  ist  ein  Gott." — HEINE. 

DURING  the  following  week,  Storm  and  I,  with 
the  aid  of  the  police,  searched  New  York  from  one 
end  to  the  other ;  but  Emily  must  have  foreseen 
the  event,  and  covered  up  her  tracks  carefully. 
Our  seeking  was  all  in  vain.  In  the  meanwhile 
the  baby  was  not  neglected ;  my  friend's  third 
room,  which  had  hitherto  done  service  as  a  sort  of 
state  parlor,  was  consecrated  as  a  nursery,  a  stout 
German  nurse  was  procured,  and  much  time  was 
devoted  to  the  designing  of  a  cradle  (an  odd  mix- 
ture of  the  Pompeiian  and  the  Eastlake  style), 
which  was  well  calculated  to  stimulate  whatever 
artistic  sense  our  baby  may  have  been  endowed 
with.  If  it  had  been  heir  to  a  throne,  its  wants 
could  not  have  been  more  carefully  studied.  Storm 
was  as  flexible  as  wax  in  its  tiny  hand.  Life  had 
suddenly  acquired  a  very  definite  meaning  to  him  ; 
he  had  discovered  that  he  had  a  valuable  stake  in 
it.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  whole  gigantic 
world,  with  its  manifold  and  complicated  institu- 
tions, began  to  readjust  itself  in  his  mind  with  sole 
reference  to  its  possible  influence  upon  the  baby's 
fate.  Political  questions  were  no  longer  convenient 
pegs  to  hang  pessimistic  epigrams  on,  but  became 


230     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

matters  of  vital  interest  because  they  affected  the 
moral  condition  of  the  country  in  which  the  baby 
was  to  grow  up.  Socialistic  agitations,  which  a 
dispassionate  bachelor  could  afford  to  regard  with 
philosophic  indifference,  now  presented  themselves 
as  diabolical  plots  to  undermine  the  baby's  happi- 
ness, and  deprive  her  of  whatever  earthly  goods 
Providence  might  see  fit  to  bestow  upon  her,  and 
so  on,  ad  infinitum.  From  a  radical,  with  revolu- 
tionary sympathies,  my  friend  in  the  course  of  a 
year  blossomed  out  into  a  conservative  Philistine 
with  a  decided  streak  of  optimism,  and  all  for  the 
sake  of  the  baby.  It  was  very  amusing  to  listen 
to  his  solemn  consultations  with  the  nurse  every 
morning  before  he  betook  himself  to  the  office,  and 
to  watch  the  lively,  almost  child-like  interest  with 
which,  on  returning  in  the  evening,  he  listened  to 
her  long-winded  report  of  the  baby's  wonderful 
doings  during  the  day.  On  Sundays,  when  he 
always  spent  the  whole  afternoon  at  home,  I  often 
surprised  him  in  the  most  undignified  attitudes, 
creeping  about  on  the  floor  with  the  little  girl 
riding  on  his  back,  or  stretched  out  full  length  with 
his  head  in  her  lap,  while  she  was  gracious  enough 
to  interest  herself  in  his  hair,  and  even  laughed 
and  cooed  with  much  inarticulate  contentment. 
At  such  times,  when,  perhaps,  through  the  disor- 
dered locks,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  beaming  happy 
face  (for  my  visits  were  never  of  sufficient  account 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     231 

to  interfere  with  baby's  pleasures),  I  would  pay 
my  respectful  tribute  to  the  baby,  acknowledging 
that  she  possessed  a  power,  the  secret  of  which  I 
did  not  know. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this,  I  did  not  fail  to  detect 
that  Storm's  life  was  not  even  now  without  its  sor- 
row. At  our  luncheons,  I  often  saw  a  sad  and 
thoughtful  gloom  settling  upon  his  features  ;  it  was 
no  longer  the  bitter  reviling  grief  of  former  years, 
but  a  deep  and  mellow  sadness,  a  regretful  dwell- 
ing on  mental  images  which  were  hard  to  contem- 
plate and  harder  still  to  banish. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  exclaimed  once,  as  he  felt 
that  I  had  divined  his  thoughts,  "  her  face  haunts 
me  night  and  day !  I  feel  as  if  my  happiness  in 
possessing  the  child  were  a  daily  robbery  from  her. 
I  have  continued  my  search  for  her  up  to  this 
hour,  but  I  have  found  no  trace  of  her.  Perhaps 
if  you  will  help  me,  I  shall  not  always  be  seeking 
in  vain." 

I  gave  him  my  hand  silently  across  the  table  ;  he 
shook  it  heartily,  and  we  parted. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  occurrence  that 
I  happened  to  be  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches 
near  the  entrance  to  Central  Park.  That  restless 
spring  feeling  which  always  attacks  me  somewhat 
prematurely  with  the  early  May  sunshine,  had  be- 
guiled me  into  taking  a  holiday,  and  with  a  book, 
which  had  been  sent  me  for  review,  lying  open 


232     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

upon  my  knees,  I  was  watching  the  occupants  of 
the  baby  carriages  which  were  being  wheeled  up 
and  down  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  me.  Pres- 
ently I  discovered  Storm's  nurse  seated  on  a  bench 
near  by  in  eager  converse  with  a  male  personage 
of  her  own  nationality.  The  baby,  who  was  safely 
strapped  in  the  carriage  at  the  roadside,  was 
pleasantly  occupied  in  venting  her  destructive  in- 
stincts upon  a  linen  edition  of  "  Mother  Goose." 
As  I  arose  to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  child,  I  saw 
a  slender,  simply  dressed  lady,  with  a  beautiful 
but  careworn  face,  evidently  approaching  with  the 
same  intention.  At  the  sight  of  me  she  suddenly 
paused  ;  a  look  of  recognition  seemed  to  be  vaguely 
struggling  in  her  features, — she  turned  around,  and 
walked  rapidly  away.  The  thought  immediately 
flashed  through  me  that  it  was  the  same  face  I  had 
seen  under  the  gas-lamp  on  the  evening  when  the 
child  was  found.  Moreover,  the  type,  although 
not  glaringly  Norse,  corresponded  in  its  general 
outline  to  Storm's  description.  Fearing  to  excite 
her  suspicion,  I  forced  my  face  into  the  most  neu- 
tral expression,  stooped  down  to  converse  with  the 
baby,  and  then  sauntered  off  with  a  leisurely  air 
toward  "  Ward's  Indian  Hunter."  I  had  no  doubt 
that  if  the  lady  were  the  child's  mother,  she  would 
soon  reappear ;  and  I  need  not  add  that  my  ex- 
pectations proved  correct.  After  having  waited 
some  fifteen  minutes,  I  saw  her  returning  with 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.      233 

swift,  wary  steps  and  watchful  eyes,  like  some  lithe 
wild  thing-  that  scents  danger  in  the  air.     As  she 
came  up  to  the  nurse,  she  dropped  down  into  the 
seat  with  a  fine  affectation  of  weariness,  and  began 
to  chat  with  an  attempt  at  indifference  which  was 
truly  pathetic.      Her  eyes  seemed  all  the  while  to 
be  devouring  the  child  with  a  wild,  hungry  tender- 
ness.     Suddenly  she  pounced  upon  it,  hugged  it 
tightly  in  her  arms,  and  quite  forgetting  her  rSlc, 
strove  no  more  to  smother  her  sobs.     The  nurse 
was  greatly  alarmed  ;    I  heard  her  expostulating, 
but  could  not   distinguish   the  words.     The  child 
cried.     Suddenly  the  lady  rose,  explained  briefly, 
as  I  afterward  heard,  that  she  had  herself  lately 
lost  a  child,  and  hurried  away.     At  a  safe  distance 
I    followed    her,    and    succeeded   in    tracking   her 
nearly  a  mile  down  Broadway,  where  she  vanished 
into  what  appeared  to  be  a  genteel  dressmaking 
establishment.     By  the  aid  of  a  friend  of  mine,  a 
dealer  in  furnishing  goods,  whom  I  thought  it  pru- 
dent to  take  into  my  confidence,  I  ascertained  that 
she  called  herself  Mrs.  Helm  (an  ineffectual  dis- 
guise of  the  Norwegian   Hjelm),  that  she  was  a 
widow  of  quiet    demeanor    and    most   exemplary 
habits,  and  that  she  had  worked  as  a  seamstress  in 
the    establishment   during   the  past  four   months. 
My  friend  elicited  these  important  facts  under  the 
pretence  of  wishing  to  employ  her  himself  in  the 
shirtmaking    department    of    his    own    business. 


234     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

Having  through  the  same  agency  obtained  the 
street  and  number  of  her  boarding-place,  I  visited 
her  landlady,  who  dispelled  my  last  doubts,  and, 
moreover,  informed  me  (perhaps  under  the  impres- 
sion that  I  was  a  possible  suitor)  that  Mrs.  Helm 
was  as  fine  a  lady  as  ever  trod  God's  earth,  and  a 
fit  wife  for  any  man.  The  same  evening  I  con- 
veyed to  Storm  the  result  of  my  investigations. 

He  sat  listening  to  me  with  a  grave  intensity  of 
expression,  which  at  first  I  hardly  knew  how  to  in- 
terpret. Now  and  then  I  saw  his  lips  quivering, 
and  as  I  described  the  little  scene  with  the  child  in 
the  park,  he  rose  abruptly  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  on  the  floor.  As  I  had  finished,  he  again 
dropped  down  into  the  chair,  raised  his  eyes  de- 
voutly to  the  ceiling,  and  murmured  : 

"  Thank  God  !  " 

Thus  he  sat  for  a  long  while,  sometimes  moving 
his  lips  inaudibly,  and  seemingly  unconscious  of 
my  presence.  Then  suddenly  he  sprang  up  and 
seized  his  hat  and  cane. 

"  It  was  number  532  ?  "  he  said,  laying  hold  of 
the  door-knob. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  but  you  surely  do  not  in- 
tend to  see  her  to-night." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  But  it  is  after  nine  o'clock,  and  she  may " 

But  he  was  already  half  way  down  the  stairs. 

Through  a  dense,  drizzling  rain  which  made  the 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     235 

gas-lights  across  the  street  look  like  moons  set  in 
misty  aureoles,  Storm  hastened  on  until  he  reached 
the  unaristocratic  locality  of  Emily's  dwelling.  He 
rang  the  door-bell,  and  after  some  slight  expostula- 
tion with  the  servant  was  permitted  to  enter. 
Groping  his  way  through  a  long,  dimly-lit  hall,  he 
stumbled  upon  a  staircase,  which  he  mounted,  and 
paused  at  the  door  which  had  been  pointed  out  to 
him.  A  slender  ray  of  light  stole  out  through  the 
key-hole,  piercing  the  darkness  without  dispelling 
it.  Storm  hesitated  long  at  the  door  before  making 
up  his  mind  to  knock ;  a  strange  quivering  agita- 
tion had  come  upon  him,  as  if  he  were  about  to  do 
something  wrong.  All  sorts  of  wild  imaginings 
rushed  in  upon  him,  and  in  his  effort  to  rid  himself 
of  them  he  made  an  unconscious  gesture,  and  seized 
hold  of  the  door-knob.  A  hasty  fluttering  motion 
was  heard  from  within,  and  presently  the  door  was 
opened.  A  fair  and  slender  lady  with  a  sweet  pale 
face  stood  before  him ;  in  one  hand  she  held  a 
needle,  and  in  the  other  a  bright-colored  garment 
which  resembled  a  baby's  jacket.  He  felt  rather 
than  saw  that  he  was  in  Emily's  presence.  His 
head  and  his  heart  seemed  equally  turbulent.  A 
hundred  memories  from  the  buried  past  rose  dimly 
into  sight,  and  he  could  not  chase  them  away.  It 
was  so  difficult,  too,  to  identify  this  grave  and  worn, 
though  still  young  face,  with  that  soft,  dimpled, 
kitten-like  Emily,  who  had  conquered  his  youth 


236     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

and  made  his  life  hers.  Ah  !  poor  little  dimpled 
Emily ;  yes,  he  feared  she  would  never  return  to 
him.  And  he  sighed  at  the  thought  that  she  had 
probably  lost  now  all  that  charming  naughtiness 
which  he  had  once  spent  so  much  time  in  disap- 
proving of.  He  was  suddenly  roused  from  these 
reflections  by  a  vague,  half-whispered  cry  ;  Emily 
had  fled  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  thrown  her- 
self on  the  bed,  and  pressed  her  face  hard  down 
among  the  pillows.  It  was  an  act  which  immedi- 
ately recalled  the  Emily  of  former  days,  a  childish, 
and  still  natural  motion  like  that  of  some  shy  and 
foolish  animal  which  believes  itself  safe  when  its 
head  is  hidden.  Storm  closed  the  door,  walked  up 
to  the  bed,  and  seated  himself  on  a  hard,  wooden 
chair. 

"  Emily,"  he  said  at  last. 

She  raised  herself  abruptly  on  her  arms,  and 
gazed  at  him  over  her  shoulder  with  large,  tearless, 
frightened  eyes. 

"  Edmund,"  she  whispered  doubtfully.  "Ed- 
mund." 

"  Yes,  Emily,"  he  answered  in  a  soothing  voice, 
as  one  speaks  to  a  frightened  child.  "  I  have  come 
to  see  you  and  to  speak  with  you." 

"  You  have  come  to  see  me,  Edmund,"  she  re- 
peated mechanically.  Then,  as  if  the  situation  were 
gradually  dawning  upon  her,  "  You  have  come  to 
sec  me." 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny.     237 

His  role  had  appeared  so  easy  as  he  had  hastily 
sketched  it  on  the  way, — gratitude  on  her  part,  for- 
giveness on  his,  and  then  a  speedy  reconciliation. 
But  it  was  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  Storm's  nature 
which  made  him  shrink  from  appearing  in  any  way 
to  condescend,  to  patronize,  to  forgive,  where  per- 
haps he  needed  rather  to  be  forgiven.  A  strange 
awkwardness  had  come  over  him.  He  felt  himself 
suddenly  to  be  beyond  his  depth.  How  unpardon- 
ably  blunt  and  masculinely  obtuse  he  had  been  in 
dealing  with  this  beautiful  and  tender  thing,  which 
God  had  once,  for  a  short  time,  intrusted  to  his  keep- 
ing !  How  cruel  and  wooden  that  moral  code  of  his 
by  which  he  had  relentlessly  judged  her,  and  often 
found  her  wanting  !  What  an  effort  it  must  have 
cost  her  finer-grained  organism  to  assimilate  his 
crude  youthful  maxims,  what  suffering  to  her  tiny 
feet  to  be  plodding  wearily  in  his  footsteps  over  the 
thorny  moral  wastes  which  he  had  laid  behind  him  ! 
All  this  came  to  him,  as  by  revelation,  as  he  sat 
gazing  into  Emily's  face,  which  looked  very  pathetic 
just  then,  with  its  vague  bewilderment  and  its  child- 
like surrender  of  any  attempt  to  explain  what  there 
was  puzzling  in  the  situation.  Storm  was  deeply 
touched.  He  would  fain  have  spoken  to  her  out 
of  the  fulness  of  his  heart ;  but  here  again  that 
awkward  morality  of  his  restrained  him.  There 
were,  unfortunately,  some  disagreeable  questions  to 
be  asked  first. 


238     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

Storm  stared  for  a  while  with  a  pondering  look 
at  the  floor  ;  then  he  carefully  knocked  a  speck  of 
dust  from  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"  Emily,"  he  said  at  last,  solemnly.  "  Is  your 
husband  still  alive  ?  "  * 

It  was  the  bluntest  way  he  could  possibly  have 
put  it,  and  he  bit  his  lip  angrily  at  the  thought  of 
his  awkwardness. 

"  My  husband,"  answered  Emily,  suddenly  re- 
covering her  usual  flute-like  voice  (and  it  vibrated 
through  him  like  an  electric  shock) — "  is  he  alive? 
No,  he  is  dead — was  killed  in  the  Danish  war." 

"  And  were  you  very  happy  with  him,  Emily  ? 
Was  he  very  good  to  you  ?  " 

It  was  a  brutish  question  to  ask,  and  his  ears 
burned  uncomfortably  ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"  I  was  not  happy,"  answered  she  simply,  and 
with  an  unthinking  directness,  as  if  the  answer  were 
nothing  but  his  due  ;  "  because  I  was  not  good  to 
him.  I  did  not  love  him,  and  I  never  would  have 
married  him  if  mother  had  not  died.  But  then, 
there  was  no  one  left  who  cared  for  me." 

A  blessed  sense  of  rest  stole  over  him  ;  he  lifted 
his  grave  eyes  to  hers,  took  her  listless  hand  and 
held  it  close  in  his.  She  did  not  withdraw  it,  nor 
did  she  return  his  pressure. 

"Emily,  my  darling,"  he  said,  while  his  voice 
shook  with  repressed  feeling  (the  old  affectionate 
names  rose  as  of  themselves  to  his  lips,  and  it 


How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Dcstijiy.     239 

seemed  an  inconceivable  joy  to  speak  them  once 
more)  ;  "you  must  have  suffered  much." 

"  I  think  I  have  deserved  it,  Edmund,"  she  an- 
swered with  a  little  pout  and  a  little  quiver  of  her 
upper  lip.  "  After  all,  the  worst  was  that  I  had  to 
lose  my  baby.  But  you  are  very  good  to  her,  Ed- 
mund, are  you  not  ?  " 

Her  eyes  now  filled  with  tears,  and  they  began 
to  fall  slowly,  one  by  one,  down  over  her  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  he  broke  forth, — the  impulse  of 
tenderness  now  overmastering  all  other  thoughts. 
"  And  I  will  be  good  to  you  also,  Emily,  if  you 
will  only  let  me." 

He  had  risen  and  drawn  her  lithe,  unresisting 
form  to  his  bosom.  She  wept  silently,  a  little  con- 
vulsive sob  now  and  then  breaking  the  stillness. 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  again,  Edmund,  will 
you  ?  "  she  queried,  with  a  sweet,  distressed  look, 
as  if  the  very  thought  of  being  once  more  alone 
made  her  shudder. 

"  No,  Emily  dear,  I  will  never  leave  you." 

"Can  you  believe  me,  Edmund  ?"  she  began 
suddenly,  after  a  long  pause.  "  I  have  always  been 
true  to  you." 

He  clasped  her  face  between  his  palms,  drew  it 
back  to  gaze  at  it,  and  then  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  God  bless  you,  darling  !  "  he  whispered,  fold- 
ing her  closely  in  his  arms,  as  if  he  feared  that  some 
one  might  take  her  away  from  him. 


240     How  Mr.  Storm  met  his  Destiny. 

How  he  would  love  and  keep  and  protect  her  — 
this  poor  bruised  little  creature,  whom  he  had  once 
so  selfishly  abandoned  at  the  very  first  suspicion 
of  disloyalty  !  As  she  stood  there,  nestling  so  con- 
fidingly against  his  bosom,  his  heart  went  out  to 
her  with  a  great  yearning  pity,  and  he  thanked  God 
even  for  the  long  suffering  and  separation  which 
had  made  their  love  the  more  abiding  and  sacred. 

The  next  day  Storm  and  Emily  were  quietly 
married,  and  the  baby  and  I  were  present  as  wit- 
nesses. They  now  live  in  a  charming  little  cottage 
on  the  Jersey  side,  which  is  to  me  a  wonder  of  taste 
and  comfort  Out  of  my  friend's  miscellaneous  as- 
sortment of  ancient  furniture  his  wife  has  succeeded 
in  creating  a  series  of  the  quaintest,  most  fascina- 
ting boudoirs  and  parlors  and  bedrooms — every- 
thing, as  Storm  assures  me,  historically  correct  and 
in  perfect  style  and  keeping  ;  so  that,  in  walking 
through  the  house,  you  get  a  whiff  of  at  least  three 
distinct  centuries.  To  quote  Storm  once  more,  he 
sleeps  in  the  sober  religious  atmosphere  of  the  Ger- 
man Reformation,  with  its  rational  wood-tints  and 
solid  oaken  carvings,  dines  amid  the  pagan  splen- 
dors of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  and  receives  com- 
pany among  the  florid  conventionalities  of  the 
French  rococo  period. 


